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LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


A THRILLING 


NARRATIVE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION OF 1791 


BY 


ALEXANDER DUMAS. 


author op “the count op monte cbisto,” “the three guardsmen,” “twenty 
TEARS after,” “bragelonne; the bon of athos,” “the chevalier,” 
“the memoirs op a physician,” “adventures of a marquis,” “Camille; 

OR, THE FATE OF A COQUETTE,” “FORTY-FIVE GUARDSMEN,” “LOUISE 
LA VALLIERE,” “ COUNTESS OF CHARNY,” “ QUEEN’s NECKLACE,” 

“ THE IRON HAND,” “ THE IRON MASK,” “ANDRE DE TAVERNKY,” 

“ EDMOND DANTES,” “BIX YEARS LATER,” BTC., ETC., BTC. 


"March on! march on! Oh children of the land. 
The day, the hour op glory, is at hand!” 



PHILADELPHIA: 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS; 

306 CHESTNUT STREET. 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by 
T. B. PETEESON & BKOTHERS, 



In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 


ALEXANDER DUMAS’ GREAT WORKS. 


COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO....U 60 

EDMOND DANTES. 75 

THE THREE GUARDSMEN,.... 75 

TWENTY TEARS AFTER 75 

BRAGELONNE. 75 

THE IRON MASK. 1 00 

LOUISE LA VALLIERE. 1 00 

DIANA OF MERIDOR 1 00 

ADVENTURES OF MARQUIS.. 1 00 

LOVE AND LIBERTY. 1 50 


MEMOIRS OF A PHYSICIAN..^! 00 

QUEEN^ 8 NECKLACE. 1 00 

SI AT TEARS LATER 1 00 

COUNTESS OF CHARNY. 1 00 

ANDREE DE TA VERNEY. 1 00 

THE CHEVALIER 1 00 

FORTY-FIVE GUARDSMEN.... 1 00 

THE IRON HAND 1 00 

THE CONSCRIPT 1 60 

COUNTESS OF MONTE CRISTO 1 00 


CAMILLE; OR, THE FATE OF A COQUETTE. 1 60 

Above are in paper cover, or in cloth, at $1.75 each. 


THE BLACK TULIP 50 

THE CORSICAN BROTHERS.. 60 


THE COUNT OF MORET. 50 


THE FALLEN ANGEL 75 

FELINA DE CHAMBURE. 75 

THE HORRORS OF PARIS,.... 75 

SKETCHES IN FRANCE 75 

ISABEL OF BAVARIA 75 

TWIN LIEUTENANTS. 75 

MAN WITH FIVE WIVES 75 

GEORGE; OR, THE PLANTER OF THE ISLE OF FRANCE. 

ANNETTE; OR, THE LADY OF THE PEARLS 

Above are in paper cover, in octavo form. 


MOHICANS OF PARIS. 

THE MARRIAGE VERDICT.. 
MADAME DE CHAMBLAY... 
BURIED ALIVE 


50 

50 

50 

25 

50 

50 


Above books are for sale by all Booksellers. Copies of any or 
all of the above books will be sent to any one, to any place, postage 
pre-paid, on receipt of their price by the Publishers, 

T. B. PETEESON & BKOTHERS, 

306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 


CONTENTS 


^rologttt. 

Chapter Page 

I.— HOW M. DUMAS CAME TO WRITE THESE MEMOIRS 23 

A MAN OF THE PEOPLE, 

(rENE BESSON.) 

I.— CONCERNING HIS PARENTAGE AND HIS EARLY 

YOUTH 27 

II. — THE FIRST SEEDS OF A POLITICAL FAITH 32 

III. — A STRANGER OF INFLUENCE TURNS UP 34 

IV. — I EDUCATE MYSELF FOR CONTINGENCIES 39 

V. — I BREAK WITH THE ARISTOCRACY 41 

VI. — THE NATION AND THE BASTILLE. — VERDICT FOR 

THE FORMER 44 

VII. — CONCERNING THE BASTILLE 48 

VIII. — THE DUKE D’ENGHIEN’S LAST DAY’S SPORT 51 

IX. — I GO TO MAKE CAPTIVES AND AM TAKEN CAP-... 

TIVE MYSELF 56 

X. — TOUCHING MADEMOISELLE SOPHIE 66 

XI. — WHAT “ BROTHERHOOD ” MEANT 70 

XII. — WHAT PASSED IN THE FOREST 75 

XIII. — THE PEOPLE IN COUNCIL 79 

XIV. — MY NEW PARISIAN FRIENDS 83 

XV. — I GO TO THE JACOBINS’ CLUB 88 

XVI.— PARIS BEFORE THE REVOLUTION 93 

XVII.— I ATTEND A MEETING AT THE, CORDELIP^RS 96 


CONTENTS 


20 

Chapter Pago 

XVIII. — THE FEMALE ELEMENT IN POLITICS 102 

XIX. — THE FIELD OF THE FEDEKATION 106 

XX.— I GO BACK AGAIN HO 

XXL — I EXCHANGE MY GUN FOR THE PLANE.... 115 

XXII. — MY NEW LIFE UNDER SOPHIE’S FATHER 117 

XXIII.— THE ARRIVAL OF THE DRAGOONS 122 

XXIV. — THE NIGHT OF THE 21ST OF AUGUST, 1791 128 

XXV. — THE TRAGEDY OF ROYALTY BEGINS 134 

XXVI. — WHAT HAPPENED AT PARIS BEFORE THE DE- 
PARTURE 145 

XXVII. — HOW THEY SET OUT 148 

XXVIII. — THE ROAD 155 

XXIX. — STILL IN FLIGHT 166 

XXX. — WHAT HAPPENED IN THE GROCER’S LITTLE SHOP 175 

XXXI. — THE RETURN OF ROYALTY IN ARREST 180 

XXXII.— WHAT M. DE BOUILLE DID IN THE MEANTIME... 187 

XXXIII.— AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE TURNS UP 189 

XXXIV. — THE CRITICS CRITICISED 195 

XXXV. — IS LOVE ETERNAL 196 

XXXVI. — BARNAVE AND PETION 202 

XXXVII.— PARIS 206 

XXXVIII. — I RESUME MY ORIGINAL PROFESSION 212 

XXXIX.— TOUCHING THE PRINCESS LAMBALLE 219 

XL. — THE TIDE RISES 224 

XLI. — CONCERNING THE BILL OF FORFEITURE 229 

XLII. — WHAT TOOK PLACE BETWEEN THE HAIRDRESSER 

AND THE INVALID 234 

XLIII. — THE RED FLAG 239 

XLIV. — THE MASSACRE OF THE CHAMP DE MARS 245 

XLV. — ROBESPIERRE PAYS A VISIT TO M. DUPLAY.... 249 

XLVI. — INSTALLATION 254 

XLVII. — A BREAK 259 

XL VIII. — THE THREAT IS LOUDER 265 

XLIX. — THE KING QUITS THE TUILERIES 274 

L.— THE MASSACRES OF SEPTEMBER 281 


CONTENTS 


21 


Chapter Pago 

LI.— THE king’s trial PROCEEDED WITH 297 

LII. — NEAR THE BLOCK 307 

LIII. — THE SACRIFICE OF BLOOD 315 

LIV. — EXECUTION OF LOUIS XVI 323 

LV. — WHAT FOLLOWS 327 

LVI. — THE REIGN OF TERROR 330 

LVII. — WHOLESALE MASSACRE 336 

LVIII.— MARIE ANTOINETTE 346 

LIX. — MARIE ANTOINETTE FINDS PEACE AT LAST 349 

LX. — THE TWENTY-TWO 356 

LXI. — THE RED FLAG 360 

L XII.— THE BLOOD OF WOMEN 365 

LXin. — ROBESPIERRE FALLS 370 



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LOVE AND LIBERTY, 



CHAPTER L 

HOW M. DUMAS CAME TO WRITE THESE MEMOIRS. 

Op all the remarkably interesting events connected with 
the French Revolution, perhaps the one most worthy of 
notice is the flight of Louis XVI, and his capture at Var- 
ennes. 

At the time when I determined to take the trip of which 
I will give you some details, and which put me in posses- 
sion of the memoirs I am about to publish — that is to say, 
about the 19th of June, 1856 — I had read almost all that 
had been written concerning the above-mentioned flight. 

I wish to start from ChMons, because from the fact of 
the King being recognized there, came the train of events 
which ended at Varennes on the evening of his arrest. 

The capture of Louis at Varennes was the culminating 
point of royalty. For although it took seven hundred and 
four years to arrive at Varennes, it took but nineteen 
months to descend from Varennes to the Place de la Revo- 
lution. 

It is not because the heads of three persons, who were 
in the carriage that took royalty to the precipice, fell on 
the scaffold, that we mark out the event as the greatest in 
the French Revolution, and, indeed, in the whole history 
of France. Ko ! It is because the arrest of the King in 

(23) 


24 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


the little town of Yarennes, unknown on the 22nd of June, 
and on the morrow fatally immortalized, was the source of 
the political convulsions which have since occurred. 

My resolution to go to Yarennes once taken, I started 
from Paris on the 19th of June, 1856, and on the 20th of the 
same month, at one o’clock next morning, I arrived at Cha- 
lons. 

I was, as you know, in search of details actually seen hy 
eye-witnesses. I soon discovered two old men who could 
give me the necessary information. One was a Monsieur 
Ricaise, at Chalons — one of the postilions who drove the 
King ; the other. Monsieur Mathieu, notary, at St. Mene- 
hould, who had seen the horses changed at the moment 
that Drouet recognized the King. 

But it was especially necessary to discover some one at 
Yarennes who remembered some incidents connected with 
the affair ; because at Yarennes occurred the most dramatic 
part of the whole catastrophe. 

I first asked a keeper of the records whether he knew 
any one who had seen the King, and assisted to arrest 
him ? 

He mentioned Colonel Rene Besson. 

I asked him to give me his address. 

“ I will do better,” said he , — “ I will take you to him.” 

At the very moment that we entered by the Rue de 
I’Horloge, that place where Louis XYI was arrested, which, 
singularly enough, has the shape of the axe of the guil- 
lotine, my guide put his hand on my shoulder. 

Eh ! ” said he ; here is the very man we want.” 

And he showed me, at the corner of the Place Latry and 
the Rue de la Basse, a fine old man, warming himself in 
the rays of the sun, and sitting in a large arm-chair before 
his door. 

It was Colonel Ren4 Besson. 

We drew near to him. 

Imagining that we had some business with him, he 
arranged himself more comfortably in his chair, and waited 
an explanation. 

Ah, ah ! is it you. Monsieur Leduc ? ” said he. 

Yes, Colonel, it is I ; and in good company, too, as you 
may see,” my companion replied. 

“ Colonel,” I call on you in right of being the son of 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 25 

one of#your old companions in arms ; for you took a part 
in the Egyptian campaign, under General Desaix?^^ 

Yes, sir, I did,” answered he. 

“The fact of being the son of an old companion in 
arms,” I continued, “ and of bearing the name of the con- 
queror of Murad Bey, induced me to take the liberty of 
calling on you, and asking for information on certain points. 
To commence. Were you at the battle of Valmy ? ” 

“ I was with my regiment six days before, on the 2nd of 
September ; and I just missed leaving my bones at La 
Force, in trying to rescue a woman — a princess, I should 
say.” 

“ The Princess Lamballe ? ” 

“ Exactly so.” 

“At this period, I was living then, in the Kue Saint 
Honore with the carpenter, Duplay.” 

“You have seen Kobespierre, then ? ” 

“Just as I have you. It was I who made the table on 
which he wrote the greater part of his speeches.” 

“ And Danton ? ” 

“ Danton ? It was he who enrolled me on the 2nd of 
September. But I knew Danton, as you say, and Camilles 
Desmoulins, Saint Just, and afterwards, later on, the Duke 
D’Enghien, and even Marshal Ney.” 

“ You have seen the Duke D’Enghien ? ” 

“ I was secretary to the Minister of War who sentenced 
him.” 

“ And also Marshal Ney ? ” 

“ It was he who made me lieutenant-colonel in the 
retreat from Moscow.” 

“ I will never leave you. Colonel ; I will be your secre- 
tary, and we will write your memoirs.” 

“ You are too late,” said he, laughing j “ my memoirs are 
already three-fourths finished.” 

“ What ? Do you mean to say you have written ” 

“ Oh, simply to amuse myself : and there is my secretary. 
Hush ! ” 

At this moment the door opened, and a beautiful girl of 
seventeen or eighteen came towards us. 

“ Is that your secretary ? ” I asked. 

“ Yes ; Marie, my dear little granddaughter.” Bow to 
Monsieur. You ought to, after the sleepless nights you 
have passed through thinking of him.” 


26 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


“ I ? ” said tlie girl, blushing. do ' not know the 
gentleman ! ” 

But you know ^ Monte Christo ’ and the ^ Three Mus- 
keteers ? ^ 

Monsieur Dumas ! Is it possible ? cried she. 

Yes, Monsieur Dumas. You see that you know him.” 

“ Oh, sir, I am so glad to see you ! ” 

^^You will be my accomplice, then, against the Col- 
onel ? ” 

“ Against my grandfather ? ” 

Yes. He has written some memoirs.” 

I know that. It is I who write from his dictation.” 

Ah ! they are worth reading.” 

Oh, grandpapa, Monsieur Dumas says that your me- 
moirs are worth reading ! ” 

If he wishes to read them, I shall not hinder him,” 
said the Colonel.” 

“ Will you really permit me, sir ? ” 

“ If I refused you, I should be attaching too much impor- 
tance to them.” 

“Colonel, I am like the gamin of Paris of Monsieur 
Vanderburch — I should like to embrace you.” 

“ Embrace my secretary j that will give more pleasure to 
both of you.” 

I looked at Marie and she blushed as red as a cherry. 

“ Mademoiselle ! ” I said, imploringly. 

She held up her cheeks to me. 

I took her hands in mine, and looked at her intently. 

“ Has Mademoiselle,” I asked the Colonel, “ a page in 
your memoirs ? ” 

“ The last — a white page. But Marie has something to 
tell me. What is it, my child ? ” 

“ That supper is ready, grandpapa.” 

“ You hear. Have you an appetite ? ” 

“ Unfortunately, I have just dined. ” 

“ I should have liked to clink glasses with you.” 

“ Will you allow me to breakfast with you to-morrow, in- 
stead ? You see, I am taking a liberty with you already. 
Mademoiselle can give me the memoirs this evening. I 
will read them to-night, and return them to-morrow.” 

“What! read them to-night? How many pages are 
there, Marie ? ” 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 27 

“ Seven or eiglit hundred, grandfather,” replied the 
young girl. 

“ Seven or eight hundred pages ! If you will permit me, 
I will copy them.” 

Well, the Colonel allowed me to copy from his manu- 
script all that had reference to the arrest of the King at 
Varennes ; and when he died, left me sole possessor of his 
memoirs. 

Colonel Kene Besson has been gathered to his fathers 
three months since, at the good old age of eighty-seven. 
He died, on a beautiful sunlit afternoon, when the mellow 
tints of autumn were melting into the snowy wreaths of 
winter. Peace be with him. 

Eight days after his death, I received the manuscript, 
with a letter from Marie, who has become one of the most 
charming girls 1 ever met with. 

The manuscript I now publish, is that of Colonel E4n4 
de Besson j and I give it the title that was chosen by him. 

(Signed) Alexandre Dumas. 


A MAN OF THE PEOPLE. 

(bene BESSON.) 


CHAPTER I. 

CONCERNING HIS PARENTAGE AND EARLY YOUTH. 

I was horn in the village of Islettes, on the banks of a 
little river called the Biesme, in the Forest of Argonne, 
situated between St. Menehould and Clermont, on the 14th 
of July, in the year 1775. 

I never had the happiness to experience a mother’s love ; 
she survived hut a few days after my birth. My father, 
who was a poor carpenter, out-stayed her loss but five 
years. 

At five years of age, therefore, I was an orphan, without 
a friend in the world. 


28 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


I am wrong and ungrateful to say that. I had one — my 
uncle, my mother’s brother, who had the post of keeper in 
the Forest of Argonne. His wife, on my mother’s death, 
supplied her place ; and he, on the death of my father, 
found me bread. 

My father died so poor, that all had to he sold to pay his 
little debts, with the exception of his box of carpenter’s 
tools, which had been taken to Father Descharmes (that 
was my uncle’s name), and placed out of sight in a little 
room belonging to me. 

The Forest of Argonne was Government property, and 
was preserved for the pleasure of the nobles attendant on 
the Court ; but that did not hinder the young people of the 
environs from coming secretly with the keepers, to enjoy a 
little sport with the deer and the hares. 

There was one, who took part in these hunting parties, 
whom I knew well — Jean Baptiste Drouet, son of a post- 
master at St. Menehould ; also William, a friend of his ; 
and one Billaut, who afterwards took the name of his native 
place, and called himself Billaut Varennes. 

All three were to acquire a certain celebrity in the mid- 
dle of those revolutionary movements, still hidden in the 
future. 

Certain young noblemen, by very special favor received 
privileges of game denied to the outer world. 

Amongst the number of those young nobles, was M. de 
Dampierre, the Count de Mannes, and the Viscount de 
Mai my. 

The former was at this time a man of about forty-five 
years, the latter not over twenty. 

I select these out of the number, because they will play 
leading parts in the events I am about to describe. 

Even when I was quite a child, I learned the difference 
that subsisted in their characters. 

Every now and then, on hearing that a herd of wild 
boars had been seen in the forest, or that the snowstorm 
had driven out the wolves, a courier would arrive from 
Paris, and announce ^^The gentlemen of the Court.” 

Then it was that the fun took place. 

If it were summer, a tent was pitched, in which the gen- 
tlemen took their meals. 

If it were winter, they stopped at St. Menehould, and 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


29 


put up at the Hotel de Metz,” making a rendezvous with 
the keepers at daybreak at a likely spot for wild boars or 
wolves. When there, the dogs were unleashed, and the 
sport commenced. 

When they went, away, they would leave twenty or 
twenty-five louis to be divided among the keepers. 

In general, these nobles of the Court were exceedingly 
polite towards the underlings. Twice the Prince de Condo 
and his son, the Duke D’Enghien came. 

On such occasions, being, as it were, high holiday, I 
would follow the sportsmen. Once when the Duke D’ En- 
ghien lost his way, I put him right, and he offered me a 
louis. I refused it. ( I was only nine years old.) 

He looked at me with astonishment, and asked my name, 
Ren4 Besson. I am the nephew of Father Descharmes,” 
I replied. 

“ Good, my boy,” said he ; “I won’t forget thee ! ” 

Two years afterwards the Prince came back. I was then 
eleven, and thought that he must have lost all remembrance 
of me. 

But he had not ; and he came to me. 

Ah, art thou not Bene Besson ? ” he said. Nephew 
of Father Descharmes ? ” 

Yes, Prince.” 

Then here is something for thee,” said he, giving me a 
gun. And this is for thy uncle,” he continued, handing 
me a folded paper. 

This paper contained the appointment of my uncle to the 
vacant post of chief huntsman. 

As for the gun, it was a beautiful weapon, and I have 
carefully kept it through my career, in memory of the 
unfortunate Prince who gave it. 

In the meantime I was growing up. I had learned to 
read and write indifferently well ; and whilst my uncle was 
busy in his vocation, I used to occupy myself with carpentry, 
a calling for which I evinced much aptitude and taste. 

I was now twelve years of age. I knew every inch of 
the Forest of Argonne, and I was as good a shot as any of 
the keepers, and my sole ambition was to take my uncle’s 
place when he resigned, which he intended to do in four or 
five years. 

There was a place, however, left vacant by the resigna- 


80 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


# 

tion of a keeper, which I thought would just suit me for 
the time ; and I determined to solicit the patronage of the 
Duke D’Enghien. 

Time passed on, and we arrived at the opening of the 
year 1788. 

For five years we had not seen M. Drouet, for, after a 
quarrel with his father, he had enlisted in the Queen’s 
Dragoons. 

One fine morning, however, we heard from his friend 
William that Father Drouet had become reconciled to him, 
and had resigned to him his situation of postmaster. 

One day, we saw a dragoon stop in front of our house, 
get olf his horse, fasten his bridle to a ring, and then come 
tramping up to the door. 

Well, Father Descharmes,” said the soldier, ^‘haven’t 
you a glass of wine in the house for an old friend ? ” 

My uncle looked at him amazed. 

Ah ! ” said I ; don’t you recognize him, uncle ? It is 
Monsieur Jean Baptiste.” 

Well, I never — so it is! ” cried my uncle, coming for- 
ward with outstretched hands. 

But, stopping for a moment, he added, I beg your par- 
don, Monsieur Drouet.” 

^‘Pardon for what? — for remembering a friend? The 
fault would have been to forget him. Come, shake hands. 
Are not all Frenchmen brothers ? ” 

“ They are j but, at the same time, there are great and 
small.” 

“ Good ! but, in two or three years, I will say to you, 

‘ There are neither great nor small. All are children of one 
mother, and all will have their rights before man, as before 
heaven.” 

“Ha! Is that the sort of schooling they give you in 
the Queen’s Dragoons, Monsieur Jean Baptiste ? ” 

“Not only in the Queen’s Dragoons, but in all other 
regiments, old Nimrod.” 

My uncle took three glasses from the cupboard, filled 
two, and half-filled the other for me. 

Drouet took up his glass. 

“ To the nation ! ” said he. 

“ What is that word? ” inquired my uncle. 

“ It is a new one, which I hope will yet gain the rights 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 81 

of the middle classes. That youngster there ; what are 
you going to do with him ? ” 

Make him my successor.” 

Drouet shook his head. 

“My good old Descharmes ! ” said he, “you belong to 
the past. Better far an independent and honorable posi- 
tion for a man, than to wear a livery which, no matter how 
gay it is, puts you at the mercy of the first whipper- 
snapper that comes. I thought Bene was a carpenter ? ” 

“ So I am. Monsieur Jean Baptiste j but I only play at 
joiner work.” 

“ Nay, look you here ! ” said my uncle, proud to be able 
to show some of my handiwork. “ Here is a wardrobe the 
youngster has made.” 

Drouet went forward, and examined the construction in 
question with more interest than it deserved. 

“ Good — very good ! ” he said. “ Go on as you are 
doing, my boy ; and, believe me, it is far better to work for 
the public, than to be a game-keeper dependent on a 
prince, liable to be turned away should a wild boar make 
an unforseen bolt, or a wolf force the line of beaters.” 

“ But,” answered I, “ you must know that I have a gun, 
Monsieur Jean Baptiste ; and a gun, too, given me by the 
Duke D’Enghien.” 

And saying this, I showed him the cherished weapon, 
with as much pride as my uncle had displayed in exhibit- 
ing my efforts at wardrobe making. 

“ A pretty gun,” he said, looking at it attentively ; 
“ and I see that it bears the royal mark. If you take my 
advice, you will not hesitate between the plane which your 
father left you, and a gun which a prince gave you. The 
carpenter’s plane is the bread-winner that the philosopher 
of Geneva put into the hands of his favorite pupil ; and 
ever since the day that ^ Emile ’ appeared, the plane has 
been ennobled.” 

“ What is ^ Emile,’ Monsieur Jean Baptiste ? ” I asked. 

“ It is the work of one who teaches that all men are 
citizens together, and that all citizens are brothers. Keep 
your gun, Ilen4, to preserve your country j but also keep 
your plane to preserve your independence. Be a carpenter 
to the people at large, my boy ; but be no one’s servant, 
not even if he be a prince. The first opportunity I have, 
I will send you ^ Emile ’ to read,” 


82 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


So saying, and squeezing the hand of his old friend, 
M. Jean Baptiste remounted his horse. As I held his 
stirrup he lifted me gently to his saddle bow, and placed 
his hand on my head. 

Kene Besson,’’ he said, with dignity, in the name of 
that grand future of liberty, with which France is even 
now in travail, I baptize thee citizen.” 

Then relinquishing me, and striking his spurs into his 
horse, he disappeared down the forest. 

[N'ext day a messenger came from M. Jean Baptiste 
Drouet, who, faithful to his promise of the night before, 
sent me a little book, with these words written on the first 
page— 

To the Citizen Ken4 Besson, carpenter.” 

The little book in question was Emile.” 


CHAPTER II. 

THE FIRST SEEDS OF A POLITICAL FAITH. 

When I came to examine the book which M. J ean Bap- 
tiste had sent me, and the title of which was “ Emile, or 
Education,” I sought out the chapter which had direct 
reference to my own case. 

In the course of my search I came across the following 
paragraph : — 

“ It is my positive desire that Emilie should learn a 
trade. An honest one, at least, you will perhaps say. 
What means that ? Every calling useful to the public is 
an honest one, is it not ? I don’t wish particularly that he 
should be a carver and gilder, neither do I particularly care 
that he should be an actor, or a musician. Still, let him 
adopt any one of those professions, or others resembling 
them, that he may fancy. I do not wish to fetter his will 
in anything, only I would rather he was a shoemaker than 
a poet, and would much prefer him to earn his livelihood by 
paving-stones than by porcelain.” 

I read over and over again, the paragraph which opened 
up this train of thought j and at last, I understood it. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


33 


Let no one be astonished that my intelligence was so 
Blow. Taken up as I was until I had reached at this time, 
my fourteenth year, with the usual jog-trot of rustic occu- 
pations, my mind had remained in a sort of twilight. 

I continued my reading. 

The needle and the sword can never be wielded by the 
same hand. If I were a king, I would only permit the ell, 
the wand, and the shears, to women, and to maimed men, 
equally feeble with the weaker sex. I would forbid callings 
against health, but not those which are simply laborious, or 
even dangerous, for those demand at once both strength 
and courage. Everything considered, the trade which I 
should like a pupil of mine to adopt of himself would be 
that of a carpenter.” 

“ Ah,” said I, “ what a good fellow this Monsieur Eosseau 
is ! How I do like him ! ” 

I tackled to my book again. 

Touching a carpenter’s trade, it is a tidy calling : it is 
useful ; you can follow it in the house ; it requires both 
skill and industry ; whilst the exercise of taste is not ex- 
cluded from the articles it turns out.” 

So, then, I was precisely in the state recommended by 
the author of “ Emile.” 

Hot only that, but I did not even require to learn the 
trade he praised; I knew it already. I read on as 
follows : — 

“ Of all states and conditions of life, the most independ- 
ent is that of a mechanic. A mechanic is dependent upon 
his work only ; he is just so much free as an agricultural 
laborer is a slave ; for the latter can only prepare the field, 
and leave the product thereof to fate. A foe — a powerful 
neighbor — a law-suit, can deprive him of his field; in fact, 
that very field can be made to vex him in a thousand dif- 
ferent ways. But, if fate disturbs a mechanic, he gathers 
his tools together, and, carrying his sturdy arms with him, 
away he goes.” 

At this point. Hooked at m}’- own arms, already muscular 
and well-developed, and I swung them in the air with pride. 
Evidently the man was right who wrote those lines. 

I uttered a cry of joy ; and rushing into my little work- 
shop, I hugged severally to my bosom my hammers, my 
planes, and my chisels. Then, strong with a new strength, 
2 


84 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


I felt irresistibly impelled to rush off at once, and thank 
M. Jean Baptiste Droiiet for lending me the precious book. 
St. Menehould was exactly three miles away, and it was 
only eleven o’clock in the morning. I could easily be home 
again by five or six, and my good uncle would not make 
himself uneasy at my absence. Besides, I was quite sure 
that he would approve of my errand. 


CHAPTEK III. 

A STRANGER OF INFUENCE TURNS UP. 

Out I set at once, taking my book with me, to read on 
the way ; and so interesting did I find the adventures of 

Emile,” that I found myself near my friend’s house 
actually without being aware of it. 

In the distance I could see M. Jean Baptiste superin- 
tending some postilions, who were putting fresh horses to a 
carriage. He was standing on the threshold of his door. 

Eunning up in a state of great excitement, I cried out, 

Monsieur Jean Baptiste, it’s I ! ” 

“Well,” he said, laughing ; “I am quite aware of the 
fact. What do you want, my boy ? ” 

“ What do I want ? Oh, I want to thank you, and to 
tell you that I will never be a keeper. The only calling 
worth following is that of a carpenter, and I mean to be 
one, Monsieur Drouet.” 

The carriage went off. 

“ So you have been reading ‘ Emile ? ’ ” he asked, taking 
me inside. 

“ Yes ; up to here.” And I showed him page 160 of the 
work. 

“ Bravo ! ” said Monsieur Drouet. “ But it is not 
enough to read ; you must also understand.” 

“Of course, M. Jean Baptiste,” said I. “There are 
many things that I cannot understand, but I always look 
to you for an explanation.” 

“ So 3 mu are come expressly for that ? ” 

“ No, M. Jean Baptiste. Not expressly for that, but to 


LOVE AND LIBERTY, 


35 


thank you for your kindness. After my father, who gave 
me life — after my aunt and my uncle, who have fed me, I 
owe more to you than to any other person in the world ; 
for has not Rousseau himself said that every man is born 
twice — first, physically, then intellectually ? And it is you 
who have successfully brought me through this second 
birth.’^ 

I must pass over that afternoon of familiar intercourse 
with my mentor and my friend. Suffice it to say, that my 
new-born resolutions were strengthened, my eyes still more 
widely opened to my own wants and requirements; and 
when I set out on my return, I felt that, indeed, a path had 
been tracked for me across the yet untrodden wilderness of 
life. 

There are few landscapes so pretty in the middle of 
France as that which presents itself to the eye on arriving 
at the Forest of Argonne. 

This struck me as it had never done before, and I paused 
involuntarily to gaze at the scene. 

At this moment two travellers came towards me, followed 
by a carriage slowly toiling up the ascent. 

One of these strangers particularly attracted my atten- 
tion. He might be about fifty years of age, of no great 
stature, but wiry and strongly built. He had a noble head, 
and his weather-beaten face was lit by the glance of an 
eagle. Had not the scar of a sabre wound sufficiently indi- 
cated his profession, I could have told he was a soldier 
from the unmistakable way in which he wore his civilian’s 
suit. 

His companion, younger and stouter, was likewise a sol- 
dier ; but evidently not of the same standing. 

These two men halted a moment near me, less to look at 
the landscape than to continue an animated conversation, 
in which the elder sustained the principal part. 

“ Yes, my dear Thevenot,” he said ; “ I will never give 
in on this point. If ever France is invaded by Montmedy 
and Verdun, it is here that we must meet the enemy ; with 
20,000 soldiers I’ll engage to stop a foe 80,000 strong. The 
Forest of Argonne is the Thermopylae of France.” 

^‘That is to say. General,” replied the other, who looked 
like his aide-de-camp, “ if the two or three roads through 
the forest could be defended as easily as this one ; for it is 


36 


LOVE A.ND LIBERTY. 


quite evident that a couple of batteries with six guns each 
would make this defile impracticable.” 

There are only two roads,” returned the General ; “ the 
one we are now pursuing, leading to Islettes; and the 
other, the Grand Pres road. Both these routes conjoin at 
Verdun.” 

“ I thought there was a third — namely, the Chene- 
Populeux road.” 

I don^t think that road leads through the forest at all ; 
but I will ask our driver.” 

The General did so. 

The bumpkin only shook his head. 

“ I only know,” he said, “ the road I^m accustomed to 
travel, and that’s not it. Beyond that, I can’t tell you 
anything ; but,” he added, nodding towards me, “ if you 
want to know all about this part of the country, why, 
there’s the nephew of Father Descharmes, who knows it all 
blindfold. Hilloa, boy ! come and speak to these gentle- 
men ! ” 

I approached, cap in hand, for the look of the elder 
traveller inspired me with respect. 

“ Friend,” said the General, seeing that I waited till he 
spoke to me ; “ we want to know where the Chene-Populeux 
road leads from, and if it takes you through the forest, or 
round by the outskirts ? ” 

It leads from Stenay, monsieur, takes round by the 
forest, and opens upon Voneg, at the River Aisne.” 

Ah, now we have it, Thevenot ; but as, so far as I can 
remember, the Chene-Populeux road is only a narrow defile, 
I still hold my original opinion.” 

“ Will you get in now, gentlemen ? ” asked the postilion. 

My horses are well breathed by this time.” 

Thank you, my young friend,” said the General, waving 
his hand towards me. But just as he had his foot on the 
step the distant sound of an alarm-bell, violently rung, 
came through the stillness. 

“ What is that? ” cried the General. 

“ A fire at the village of Islettes,” said I. “ Look ! you 
can see the smoke above the trees ! ” 

And, without any further speculation, off I ran towards 
the village. The General called after me, but I did not 
stop to listen. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


37 


However, before I had gone a hundred yards, the carriage 
rattled past me at a gallop. The General, evidentl}’ moved 
by a humane motive, was hastening, like myself, towards 
the scene of the catastrophe, where I soon arrived. 

All the village was astir, and I found the General and 
his companion had taken command of the rustics, just as 
they would of an army on the field of battle. 

The fire had broken out in the workshop of a cart-wright. 
The fiery element had attacked an adjacent shed full of 
wood, and threatened to reduce the neighboring house to 
ashes. 

Now, at Islettes, fire-engines were unknown, and I need 
scarcely say that handing along little buckets of water 
from the river was by no means an effectual remedy. 

“ We must cut off the fire ! ” shouted the General. 

'‘But how? ” returned the peasants. 

" I want somebody,” cried the General, “ who will get 
up upon the roof of that shed, and cut away the principal 
support. The post will fall, and carry the roof with it.” 

“ Oh, yes ! ” said a voice ; “ and the somebody in ques- 
tion will go down with the roof! ” 

“ Very likely ! ” acquiesced the General, calmly ; “ but 
the fire will be smothered, and the rest of the village 
saved.” 

At that moment, a certain passage from “ Emile ” flash- 
ed across my mind. 

“ Give me an axe 1 ’’ I cried. As I spoke, I saw one 
leaning against a house near which I was standing. 

I laid down my “ Emile ” and a dictionary which M. 
Jean Baptiste had given me ; seized the axe, and rushed 
into the house adjacent to the shed. Already its inmates 
were carrying out all their little property, expecting every 
instant that their cottage would be in flames. 

Up the little wooden stairs I rushed, and scrambled out 
on the roof through a sort of trap-door. 

It was my first experience upon roofs ; hut as I had been 
accustomed to climbing trees up to any height, a prome- 
nade on the thatch was only child’s play. 

Below, all was hushed in anxiety. I could only hear the 
peculiar billow-like sounds of the flames, and the fall of the 
burning fragments as they gave way under the fire. 

Presently I found myself in a dense atmosphere of smoke 


38 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


and sparks. I was nearly stifled ; but I knew that all eyes 
and hearts were fixed upon me, and that gave me strength 
to succeed or to die, as it might be. 

Supporting myself by the chimney, I commenced to cut 
away a hole round about the roof-tree. 

I was strong of my age, and could wield with dexterity 
the axe — that instrument of my adopted calling ; but 
though at every blow the upright beam trembled — on the 
other hand, the advancing flame seemed to increase in vol- 
ume. 

There was, in a word, a battle between me and the flame, 
and I felt proud to have an element for mj’^ foe. All at 
once, the gable-end fell in with a terrible crash ; the other 
supports of the roof being weakened by my blows, gave 
way, and the roof itself fell, smothering, beneath the rag- 
ing flames. I flung the axe away from me, and held on 
like grim death to my chimney. A whirlwind of smoke 
and fire blotted me from the crowd below, and, half suffo- 
cated as I was, I could still hear and understand their 
murmur of pain and anxiety. 

The crisis was over. With one last effort I struggled to 
my trap-door, and in another moment — I know not how — 
found mj^self safe and sound in the open air. 

Friendly arms embraced me, and looking up, I saw it 
was the General, who held in one hand my precious books. 

boy,” he said, “ you are brave, and you read Rous- 
seau : therefore I do not offer you a reward. But you will 
be a true man, and I embrace you.” 

And again he pressed me in his arms. 

By this time, my uncle, and, indeed, all the village, were 
at my side ; and whilst I was receiving their congratula- 
tions, the General and his friend had departed. No one 
knew who they were. 

This was an important day in my life ; for I had learnt 
to understand what was conveyed in that most beautiful of 
all human words — self-devotion. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


89 


CHAPTER IV. 

I EDUCATE MYSELF FOR CONTINGENCIES. 

jNext day I laid up for myself a course of study — phys- 
ical and intellectual. In the morning I read and studied 
my hooks ; during the day I worked at my carpentry ; 
towards evening I indulged in shooting, in gymnastics, and 
sports of that nature ; and at night I again returned to my 
books. I improved every day. 

About a week after the events of the last chapter, 
M. Drouet, and two friends came to my uncle’s. 

M. Drouet and his friends shook me by the hand. He 
asked me how I was getting on, and I told him all, regret- 
ting at the same time that I had no money to buy books, 
or get instruction in Latin. 

‘‘Ho money!” said Jean Baptiste. “Who hinders you 
from making it ? ” 

“ Making it? ” I answered. “ But how ? ” 

“With your plane, of course.” 

“ But, Monsieur Drouet, I have no customers. 

“ I will find them for you.” 

“Where?” 

“ To begin with, the postmaster of St. Menehould, Jean 
Baptiste Drouet by name. The fact iis, I require a quantity 
of carpentry work done in my house, and you must under- 
take it.” 

“ I am not good enough workman for that, Monsieur 
Drouet.” 

“ But if I find you good enough ? ” 

“ Then I would not like to take your money.” 

“ Nonsense ! I must get somebody to do it, so that is 
settled. Now, about the Latin. I will find you a teacher 
— Monsieur Fortin, the Cure of Islettes.” 

“ How will I pay him ? ” 

“I don’t think that he would take your money.” 

“But I take yours. Monsieur Drouet.” 

“ Ah, that is different. Government does not pay me to 
make wash-hand-stands, but it does pay Abbe Fortin to in- 
struct his flock morally and intellectually.” 


40 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


I should like to offer him something.’’ 

‘‘Exactly — not as a right, but as a graceful act of 
courtesy ; and as I know the Father Fortin does not 
despise the good things of this life, you can shoot him a 
hare occasionally, or knock him up a cupboard, to keep his 
preserves in.” 

“ A thousand thanks. Monsieur Jean ! ” 

“ Listen ! I have it in my mind’s eye that you will be 
a soldier — at all events, the education necessary for an 
officer will not be thrown away. For six francs a month, 
Bertrand, of Islettes, the old soldier, will teach you fenc- 
ing ; and, for a trifle more, Mathieu, the land surveyor, at 
Clermont, will show you how to draw a plan. As for 
horsemanship, I will give you the run of my stable ; so, 
there you are, with your life-time all mapped out. Now, 
let us to the forest.” 

At dinner that day, the conversation turned upon poli- 
tics, and particularly on the unpopularity of Marie Antoi- 
nette, the Queen. All this was Greek to me, till M. Jean 
Baptiste explained the situation of affairs. 

Marie Antoinette, it appeared, daughter of the Austrian, 
Marie Therese, and ancient enemy of France, had been 
accepted by the French people as a harbinger of union and 
of peace. Very different, however, had been her influence. 

In a word, Marie Therese hoped that Louis XVI would 
some day aid her to get back the provinces wrested from 
her by Prussia. 

Until 1778, Marie Antoinette did not meddle with affairs 
of state. Up to that time, Turgot was the ruling spirit ; 
but, at last, he had to succumb to that famous De Calone, 
who used to reply thus to the demands of the Queen : 
“ Madame, if Jt is possible, it is already done j if it is im- 
possible, it will be done.” 

Misrule went on. The King, despite his impoverished 
treasury, bought St. Cloud ; the Queen, whilst her people 
were starving, purchased Rambouillet, and lavished millions 
of francs which were not her own upon her immediate fav- 
orites. Scandal arose ; and when scandal gets into every- 
body’s mouth, it is worse than truth. 

M. de Calone resigned. He could not make both ends 
meet. 

The next Prime Minister was Brienne, a Queen’s favor- 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 41 

ite ; and, when he fell, Paris was illuminated from the Bas- 
tille to the Cour de la E-eine. 

M. de Necker reigned in his stead. He was a Genevese 
banker, and a financier of the first force ; but even he failed 
to see a way out of the royal bankruptcy ; and it was whis- 
pered that he was going to ask the nation what it thought 
of matters — France was to speak. 

This was the great news at my uncle’s dinner-table that 
day, and our three guests were very merry over it, and 
pledged fidelit}" to each other however these events might 
turn out. 

And they kept their word. 


CHAPTER y. 

I BREAK WITH THE ARISTOCRACY. 

Next morning I set out for St. Menehould, to see about 
M. Drouet’s job. He told me what he wanted, and that he 
should require ’the new furniture I was to make him to be 
of good, well-seasoned oak. In order that I might set 
about it the more easily, he paid me one hundred francs in 
advance ; and with this prodigious sum in ray pocket, I 
went off to select the necessary timber, when whom should 
I meet but Bertrand. The old soldier informed me that 
M. Drouet had spoken to him about giving me fencing les- 
sons, and I arranged with him, on the spot, when I was to 
take' them. I fact, I began that very day. 

I remember well how my hand trembled with pleasure, 
when I grasped the foil for the first time. At the end of 
an hour, I knew the five parades, and could disengage 
decently. 

“ That will do for to-day,” cried my master, more tired 
than I was myself. 

1 recollected something. 

‘‘Monsieur Bertrand,” said I ; “I shall perhaps not be 
able to pay you till the end of the month.” 

“ Oh, that’s all settled. Monsieur Drouet has paid me a 
month in advance. He said that he owed you money.” 


42 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


I felt a glow of emotion at this new proof of my good 
friend’s generosity. 

As I was crossing a field on my way home, I met the 
surveyor, M. Mathieu. My good genius had preceded me 
there, too : the surveyor was quite ready to impart to me 
the mysteries of the chain and level. 

Leaving him, I went home in great glee, took my gun, 
and sallied forth to slaughter partridges for my Latin mas- 
ter. I was fortunate enough to knock over a brace of birds 
and a hare, which I sent the same night to the Abbe 
Fortin. 

Next day, as I was planing away with great zeal, the 
Abbe himself stood before me. 

Well, my boy, you have sent me some game, and you 
must now help me to eat it. Dinner at two, and I shall be 
glad to see your uncle, if he will come with you.” 

Oh, Monsieur I’Abbe, it is too much honor ! ” 

At two o’clock, mind. Marguerite, the housekeeper, 
does not like to be kept waiting.” 

So saying, the worthy Cure left me. 

My uncle, I found, would not be at home till the evening, 
so, at the hour appointed, I found myself alone, tapping at 
the Abbe’s door, and dressed out in all my Sunday splen- 
dor. 

The Cur4 opened it himself. 

Ah, monsieur, I am so sorry to trouble you ! ” 

Trouble ? Nonsense ! Only Marguerite cannot be at 
the door and at her kitchen stove at the same time. Talk- 
ing of which, she tells me we will not have dinner till 
three. Now, what do you say to a first Latin lesson, as my 
friend Drouet tells me that you wish to learn that lan- 
guage.” 

I was only too glad to acquiesce ; and, before dinner was 
served, I understood that there were five declensions in the 
Roman tongue. 

During the simple repast which followed, I surveyed the 
Abbe’s furniture with a critical eye, and a mental resolve 
to do it all up for him again. 

Then, after having arranged about my future hours with 
my kind preceptor, I returned home, one step further up 
the ladder of progress. That very evening, we were 
apprised of a visit of the Count de Dampierre^ the Viscount 
de Malmy, and some other young nobles. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


43 


Hitherto, I had been in the habit of accompanying them, 
dressed in regular keeper’s costume; but now I stuck 
steadily to my carpentry work. 

‘‘Holloa, Ren^ ! ” said M. de Dampierre; “don’t you go 
with us to-day ? ” 

“No, Monsieur le Comte,” I replied ; “ I have a lesson 
in mathematics to-day.” 

“ What ? ” he exclaimed, with surprise. “ Do you study 
mathematics ? ” 

“ Yes, and history and Latin, also.” 

“ And is all this necessary in our days for a game- 
keeper ? ” 

“ I am not going to be one.” 

“ What then ? ” 

“ I mean to be a carpenter, like ‘ Emile.’ ” 

“ I don’t know him.” 

“No? It is the ‘Emile’ of Monsieur Jean Jacques 
Rousseau that I mean ; but if the nation wants me, I shall 
be a soldier.” 

“ What do you mean by nation ? ” 

“ I mean our country — France.” 

“We call that the kingdom, do we not? ” 

“ Yes, Monsieur le Comte ; but some think it high time 
that we should call it a nation.” 

“ Then the mathematics are to teach you military engi- 
neering ? ” 

“ Yes ; every ofScer should know how to draw a plan.” 

“ Officer ! But before you can be an officer, you must be 
an aristocrat.” 

“ At present, yes ; but by the time I am ready, there 
may be changes in the system.” 

“You heard that, Malmy,” said M. de Dampierre, turn- 
ing to the Viscount. 

“ Yes ! ” replied the other, shrugging his shoulders. 

“ And what do you think of it all ? ” asked M. de Dam- 
pierre. 

“ I think that the class to which he belongs are losing 
their heads altogether.” 

I planed away vigorously, and affected not to hear. By- 
and-bye they strolled off to the forest, laughing, whilst I 
got ready to go to M. Mathieu, for my first lesson in 
engineering. 


44 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE NATION AND THE BASTILLE. — VERDICT FOR THE 
FORMER. 

At the end of the fifteenth day the Abbe Fortin had his 
furniture retouched, and when three months had expired I 
had finished the carpentry work for M. Drouet. 

The work was estemated at five hundred francs, the 
materials alone costing a hundred and twenty ; so that I 
received three hundred and eighty, with the compliments 
of my two masters on the excellency of my workmanship. 

Whilst I was still engaged on the completion of the 
order, M. Drouet advanced me five hundred francs, to 
enable me to buy the wood, and at the same time, to take 
my lessons in the use of implements of warfare, and pur- 
chase useful books. 

The warrant expected from M. Necker, for the convoca- 
tion of the Etats Generaux, had appeared. For the first 
time, a great nation, or a great kingdom, as M. Dampierre 
said, admitted all its members to political rights. 

No sooner had the warrant appeared (which can be 
translated in these words : — All will assemble to elect ; 
all will write their grievances in the books given to them 
for that purpose ”) than all France thrilled, as it were, with 
an .electric shock, and the people leapt from darkness into 
light. 

That cry, treasured up for two centuries, becomes 
stronger and stronger every da3\ They complain that the 
year 1788 was barren ; that the winter was bitterl}’- cold ; 
that the famine in the following spring was terrible. 

They went to the municipality of St. Menehould, to 
write in the books ; and my capital penmanship procured 
me the office of secretary. 

Afterwards, they went to election. MM. Drouet, Guil- 
laume, and Billaud exercised enormous influence. 

M. Dampierre was balloted with a poor parish priest. 
The priest prevailed over him. 

The event deceived all. The Etats, which ought to have 
opened on the 27th of April, were adjourned to the 4th of 
May. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 45 

The Court was frightened, and delayed the matter as 
long as it could. 

All France had its eyes turned to Paris. Every hour 
brought forth unexpected events. 

On the 5th of May, the opening of the Etats, in the 
procession from Versailles, the King was applauded, and 
the Queen hissed. 

On the 8th of Maj^, .the three classes were changed into 
two — the one formed of the third class, the other of the 
nobility and clergy. 

On the 18th of June^ the assembly hall was closed by 
order of the King. 

On the 22nd of June, the oath of Jeu-de-Pauvre was 
taken. 

This oath was the declaration of war from the third Etat 
against the nobility and clergy. It was the first menace 
direct from the people against the throne. 

All in a moment, these comparatively small events ceased, 
and a portentous calm intervened, so to speak, as if the 
minor combatants held their weapons to intently watch the 
issue of the combat between their superiors. 

On the 12th of July, M. Drouet started for Paris. 

It was the day of the dismissal of Keeker — it was the 
day when Camille Desmoulins, jumping on a table in a cafe^ 
drew his sword, and crying, To arms ! ” placed the leaf 
of a tree in his hat. 

We had no news of M. Drouet up to the 15th 

On the morning of the 15th, MM. Dampierre and De 
Yalmy went out hunting, to which sport were invited two 
or three of their friends from Clermont and Yarennes j 
among others, a certain Chevalier de Courtemont, whom we 
shall come across later on. 

It was evident that the hunt was but a secondary affair, 
and that the real object was to meet and hear the news 
from Paris. 

M. Dampierre had heard, on the 13th, that Paris was on 
fire, and the Court at Versailles guarded by German troops, 
— Benzenval commanding, under the old Marshal de Brog- 
lie. 

The theatres were shut. The dismissal of Keeker had, 
to a certain extent, paralyzed the public mind. Statues of 
him and of the Duke of Orleans were covered with crape, 
and paraded through the streets of Paris. 


46 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


The procession, armed with sticks, swords, and pistols, 
after having passed through the streets Saint Martin and 
Saint Honore, arrived at the Place Vendome. 

There one division stopped, and liaving dispersed the 
people, destroyed the bust of the Prince and the Duke of 
Orleans, and put to death a French guard who disdained to 
fly. 

That was not all. 

M. de Bezenval had put a detatchment of Swiss and four 
pieces of cannon in battery on the Champs Elysees, the 
crowd retired to the Tuileries, and the Prince de Lambese, 
a German, charged upon them with his cavalry, inoffensive 
though they were, and was the first to enter, on horseback, 
the gardens of the Tuileries. A barricade stopped him. 
From the back of that barricade, stones and bottles were 
thrown at him. He perceived that a group of men were 
shutting the gate, to take him prisoner. He ordered a 
retreat, and, in flying, crushed one man under his steed, 
and severely wounded another with a blow from his sabre. 

The crowd now entered the armorers’ shops, and ran- 
sacked them. 

The cannons were mounted on the Bastille, which was 
reinforced by another detachment of Swiss. 

They knew nothing more on the night of the 13th, nor 
on the next day. 

M. Dampierre ordered that if news came in the day, it 
was to be delivered to my uncle. 

At four o’clock the sport finished, and they returned to 
the house. A dinner, prepared as usual, awaited them. 

The companions remained at table, visibly pre-occupied ; 
the conversation was nothing but conjectures. Thej^ spoke 
in strong terms of the National Assembly. They wished 
to have been in the place of M. Br^z^, of M. de Bezenval, 
of M. de Lambese ; they were sure that they could have 
done better than they did. 

The Queen was too good, not to have commanded the 
Swiss to exterminate the wretches. 

At six o’clock, M. Dampierre’s servant brought a de- 
spatch. It was dated the morning of the 14th. 

On the night of the 13th the people had forced the doors 
of the Invalides, and had taken thirty thousand muskets. 
They had also forced the doors of the Arsenal with sledge- 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


47 


hammers, and had taken seven or eight tons of powder. 
That powder had been distributed under the lamp-lights. 
Each man bearing a musket received fifty cartridges. 

The Court had ordered all the foreign regiments, useful 
to royalty, to be at hand, if wanted. 

M. de Launay, the Governor of the Bastille, who knew 
his unpopularit}”, and upon whom they could count, because 
of that unpopularity, had pledged himself to blow the Bas- 
tille into the air, along with half Paris, before he would 
surrender. 

This news the companions thought good, as it promised 
a desperate resistance. 

On the other hand, who were the people who menaced 
royalty? Men ignorant of the use of ^e-arms, undisci- 
plined, and without leaders, who would retreat at the first 
cannon-shot, and fly at the first charge. 

How could that rabble hold out against practised soldiers, 
who feared not death, but disgrace ? 

On mastering the despatch, M. Dampierre told each 
guest to fill his glass ; then, lifting his own, “ To the 
victory of the King, and the extermination of the rebels ! ” 
he cried. “ Drink with me, gentlemen.” 

To the victory of the King, and the extermination of 
the rebels ! ” cried all, with one voice. 

But before they had time to put the glasses to their lips, 
a furious gallop, coming from the direction of Paris, was 
heard ; and, shouting with joy, a horseman, with a tricolor 
in his hat, shot past like a whirlwind, crying to M. Dam- 
pierre and his friends these words — not less terrible than 
those that Belshazzar read, in letters of fire, on the wall, — 
“ The Bastille is taken ! Long live the people ! ” 

The horseman was Jean Baptiste Drouet, who was rid- 
ing at full speed to announce to his friends at Varennes the 
news of the victory that the people had obtained over their 
King. ^ . 

This news which he proclaimed in every city and in every 
village that he passed, brightened his route with a flash 
vivid as lightning. 


48 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


CHAPTER VIL 

CONCERNING THE BASTILLE. 

All Erance gave one cry of joy when the news arrived 
that the Bastille was taken. 

All the world knew the Bastille — that prison which has 
given its name to others. 

From one end of France to the other, all shook hands, 
congratulating each other on the event. 

And, strange to say, the Bastille was taken b}'- those who 
had never entered it — in fact, it was a place of imprison- 
ment for nobles only. 

One would have thought, from the fact of their attacking 
it, that it was a place which they themselves had to dread. 

Ah ! it was a horrible den. You were not dead there ; 
but what was worse, 3^ou were forgotten. 

Your father, wife, or brother dared not speak of jou, for 
fear they should be sent there likewise. 

Once there, you no longer had a name, but a number. 
You died, and they buried you under a false name. 

No ; the King did not deprivp you of your head ; he 
was too good for that ; he only forgot you. 

Instead of dying in a moment, you. suffered unutterable 
tortures for perhaps thirty years. 

In the reign of Louis XVI all the rigors of prisons were 
softened, with the exception of the Bastille, the discipline 
of which was harsher than ever. In former reigns they 
had barred the windows ; but now they also stopped the 
promenades in the gardens. 

It is true that Louis XVI did not actually do this him- 
self but he suffered it to be done, which is all the same. 

Louis XVI did not himself shut up the garden. No ; it 
was De Launay, who was as unpopular as he well could be. 

At the Bastille all bought the places that they occupied, 
* from the Governor down to the gaolers. Every situation 
was worth having, except that of the prisoners. 

The Governor had sixty thousand livres salary. He 
made a hundred and twenty thousand by his plunders. 

We have already spoken of the garden of the Bastille 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


49 


open to the prisoners. It was but a little plot of ground, 
planted, as it were, upon a bastion. 

A gardener offered a hundred francs a year for it ; and 
this scoundrel, who was wringing from the pitiful allowances 
of the prisoners the sum of a hundred and twenty thousand 
francs per annum, , actually, for the sake of this paltry sum, 
deprived the poor wretches under his rule of the breath of 
air that made life supportable, of the sole gleam of life that 
intervened ’twixt them and the tomb. 

He well knew that he would never survive the capture of 
the Bastille — this man of iron, who had a Bastille in place 
of a heart. 

The Governor’s hundred and thirty-five barrels of powder 
were placed in a vault, situated in the centre of the fortress. 
The Bastille blown into the air would astound Paris in its 
ascent, and utterly destroy it in its stupendous fall. This 
he knew. When the prison was entered by the people, 
he clapped a torch to the touch-string. An Invalide seized 
his arms ; two sous-ofScers crossed bayonets across his 
breast. He snatched a knife from his belt ; they took it out 
of his hands. 

Then he demanded to be allowed to march out with the 
honors of war. 

This demand met with a positive refusal. 

At last, he would be satisfied were he allowed to depart 
with life alone. 

Two of the conquerors of the Bastille — Hullin and Elie 
— promised this in the name of all. 

He begged them to conduct him to the Hotel de Ville, 
where he had some shadow of authority. 

In the meantime, whilst the people were dashing them- 
selves against the granite and the oak, and demolishing the 
two stone slaves that supported the clock, and breaking 
open the dungeons, with the intention of liberating tlie 
prisoners confined therein, Hullin and Elie took away De 
Launay, hiding him as much as possible by placing them- 
selves in front of him. 

But when he arrived at the gates, the Governor was re- 
cognised. He had no hat ; Hullin, fearless of consequen- 
ces, gave him his own. 

Turning into the Hue St. Antoine, one who had taken 
part in the combat, recognised the prisoner. 

3 


60 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


Farther on, came some who had not yet been engaged in 
the siege, and who, as a matter of course, were more blood- 
thirsty now that the danger was over. They wished to 
massacre the prisoners. De Launay remained alive through 
the protection of Hullin and Elie. 

Elie, less powerful than Hullin, was carried away by the 
crowd, amongst whom he was lost sight of. 

At the Arcade St. Jean, Huilin himself lost sight of De 
Launay, but by a superhuman effort he separated the 
crowd, and regained him. He dragged him to some adja- 
cent steps, but in the effort fell. Twice did he again raise 
himself, only to fall again. At the third time, De Launay 
had disappeared. He looked for him on all sides, and at last 
recognised his head fixed on the extremity of a pike, and 
borne above the crowd. 

That head Hullin would have saved, had it been possible, 
at the risk of his own. 

During this time, the mob had released the prisoners in 
the Bastille. 

There were nine. 

Two or three, on seeing the door open, cried out that the 
people had come to slay them, and prepared to defend them- 
selves with chairs, but the intruders cried out in a loud 
voice, Free ! Free ! ” 

One could not understand it, and fell suffocating, pressing 
his heart with his two hands. 

Another stood speechless, with his eyes fixed on space ; a 
venerable man was he, with a white beard descending to his 
breast. They took him for a spectre. 

The conquerors told him that he was free. 

He understood them not. 

How is Louis the Fifteenth ? ” asked he. 

“ He has been dead fifteen years.” 

“ How long had he been in the Bastille ? ” they asked 
him. 

“ I know nothing about it,” he replied. 

“ Who are you ? ” 

“ I am the Elder-born of Space.” 

He was mad. 

Under the staircase, in a sort of topib, they found two 
skeletons. Who were they ? Ho one knew. The work- 
men took them away, and buried them in the Cemetery of 
St. Paul. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


61 


All the world wished to see the Bastille. They showed 
Latude’s ladder^ that immense work of patience and of 
genius. 

For a month the old place was not emptied. 

They heard sighs. A report ran about that there were 
hidden dungeons known only to the Government, in which 
the unhappj’’ prisoners were sutfered to die of hunger. 

The architect of the city, Citizen Palloy, was ordered to 
pull down the old fortress. Of the best stones, he made 
eighty-six models of the Bastille, which he sent to eighty- 
six different departments. 

With the others, he built the Pont de la Bevolution, on 
which the head of Louis XVI was exposed after execution. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE DUKE d’eNGHIEN’S LAST DAt’s SPORT. 

For a long time, reports of hidden dungeons and forgot- 
ten prisoners agitated Paris. Paris had had a mountain on 
its breast, and could not accustom itself to the deliverance 
from it. 

To pity succeeded fear. Had they really escaped from 
that calamity with which De Launay liad threatened them ? 
They reported that there were underground passages from 
the Bastille to Vincennes ; and that in those passages the 
powder was concealed just under the Faubourg St. Antoine, 
which would one day blow up from one end to the other. 

These fears had a good effect. They, for a time, dissi- 
pated the feeling of famine which was gradually creeping 
over Paris. 

Foulon said, The French have no bread j why should 
they not eat hay ? My horses eat it.’^ 

True or not, he expiated this sneer with his life, and they 
carried his head about with a mouthful of hay stuffed be- 
tween his teeth. 

But, alas ! it seemed that the French people had nothing 
to do but to eat what Foulon recommended. 

From Paris, the fear of famine was dispersed among the 
provinces. 


62 


LOVE AND LIBERIY. 


Foulon,” said all, “ had predicted it.” 

They must mow all France. 

All said that his ghost appeared to execute the menace. 

Then report went about that bands of robbers had been 
seen mowing the green wheat. 

The municipality of Soissons wrote to the Assembly a 
letter full of fears. The robbers had cut,” they said, “ all 
the wheat for miles around, and were now marching on the 
city.” 

Soissons demanded help. 

The Assembly sent a thousand men, who searched on all 
sides, twelve miles, a-day. They could not find the 
robbers. 

No matter, ten, twenty, a hundred people had seen them. 

In the midst of this disputed news, other transpired 
which was but too true. 

A certain lord having heard that De Launay had wished 
to blow up the Bastille, resolved, if it were in his power, to 
complete that which the Governor had been unable to do. 

He announced that, in honor of the taking of the Bas- 
tille, he would give a grand entertainment, to which all 
were invited — workmen, artisans, tradesmen, countrymen, 
soldiers, women, old men, and children. 

In this time of famine, when all lived on an ounce or 
two of bread per diem, a good dinner was a public service. 
Everybody — about 5,000 persons, that is to say — rushed to 
the fete. In the midst of it, an explosion was heard, and 
the surrounding plain was covered with dissevered limbs. 

The gentleman, whose name was Mennay de Quincy, 
escaped to Switzerland, and avoided punishment. 

Later on, he returned ; and, as he was a member of Par- 
liament, he was arrainged before it, and acquitted. 

But the breach between the nobles and the people was 
now opened. The poor Count de Haus, who was incapable 
of committing such a crime, was accused of abetting M. de 
Quincy. 

Some days afterwards, being at Neuville le Pont, he was 
insulted by the people, who proceeded to extremities ; and 
he had but just time to spring on his horse, and gallop off 
to a place of safety. 

Fear had now seized upon us, as well as every one else. 

On the 18th of July, four days after the taking of the 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 63 

Bastille, the Prince Conde, the Duke d’Enghien, M. Vaud- 
revil, and M. de Broglie were announced. 

Their arrival astonished my uncle, as it was not the hunt- 
ing season ; the wood being very thick, the shooting was 
difficult. 

The Prince de Conde replied that he only wished to hunt 
a stag, the King having commanded him, in the possibility 
of a war, to examine into the condition of the defences of 
Verdun. 

The courier was ordered to procure horses from Clermont, 
and to command the two carriages punctually at five 
o’clock. 

So, taking this view of the matter, there was nothing ex- 
traordinary in it at all. 

The Princes, mindful of the sport they had had, were de- 
termined to enjoy another day of it, although it was not 
the proper season ; but they could surely do as the}’^ liked. 

The Duke d’Enghien commanded me to accompany 
them. 

I said good-bye to my books for the day, took the gun 
which the Duke had given me, and followed them. 

The Prince was then eighteen years of age — not much 
older than I was. It was probably on account of the sim- 
ilarity of our ages, that I was favored by so much of his no- 
tice. 

I remarked that, though courteous as usual, he was pro- 
foundly sorrowful. 

He asked me what progress I was making in my educa- 
tion. 

I told him. When I mentioned M. Drouet, he asked if 
he were not the postmaster at St. Menehould. 

On my response in the affirmative, “ A hot E-epublican, 
if I mistake not ? ” he said. 

I replied that, through him, this part of the country had 
been apprized of the capture of the Bastille. 

He asked me some questions about the general disposi- 
tion of the country — as much of the nobles as of the lower 
classes. 

I told him that the love of the people for their King was 
great, and that they equally hated the nobles, which was 
true. 

He covered his face with his handkerchief, and sighed. 


64 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


I looked at him with astonishment. 

Pardon me, Duke,” said I ; “ but I heard the Prince de 
Conde say that he was going to inspect the fortifications of 
Verdun, in case of war.” 

He looked at me to see what I was driving at. 

“ Excuse my question, Duke,” said I, “ but do you think 
it probable that we shall have war.^” 

^‘Very probable,” said he, looking at me in his turn. 

But why that question ? ” 

Because, in that event, your Grace, I shall not have 
lost my time.” 

What would you do if there were war ? ” 

If France be menaced, every one capable of bearing a 
musket should fly to its defence.” 

He looked at my gun. It was the one which he had 
given me. 

“ So you can not only carry a gun, but you know how to 
use it.” 

“ In fact, your Grace,” said I, laughing, thanks to your 
noble gift, I am such a capital shot, that if I had a Prus- 
sian or Austrian at the end of it, I fancy they would pass 
an uncomfortable quarter of an hour.” 

You think so ? ” 

“ I am certain of it. A Prussian or an Austrian would 
be bigger than that pigeon you see there.” 

And I pointed to one perched about three hundred paces 
off, on the dry branch of a tree. 

You are mad,” said the Prince. That bird is three 
times out of range.” 

Certainly, your Grace, for shot ; but not for ball ? ” 

Your gun is loaded, then, with ball ? ” 

Yes, your Grace ; I seldom use anything else.” 

“ W hat are you doing, Henri ? ” the Prince de Condd 
said, as he appeared in view. 

Nothing, father,” replied the Duke ; I am only say- 
ing a few words to this boy here.” 

He then bade me farewell, saying that he hoped I would 
always think of him kindly.” And waving his hand, he 
resumed his seat by his father’s side, and disappeared. 

I stood almost heart-broken on the spot where the Prince 
addressed his last words to me. 

One would have thought that I had a presentiment of the 
awful circumstances under which I should meet him again. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


65 


All the towns had organized national guards, after the 
example of Paris. Chalons had set the example ; St. Mene- 
hould had followed it. M. Drouet was captain. He came 
to ask Bertrand to be his lieutenant, and to see how many 
men he could recruit at Islettes. 

It was the report of ba-ndits having been seen about 
which induced them to organize the National Guard. 

In eight days, all France was armed. Each day the 
National Assembly gave audiences to ten couriers. It had 
at its disposal a million of men. 

Drouet and Bertrand took a stroll in the village of Is- 
lettes. 

They enrolled twenty men. 

The keepers of the Forest of Argonne enlisted themselves 
and formed that part of the brigade of which Father Des- 
charmes was chief. 

I wished to be one of M. Bertrand’s detachment, conse- 
quently in M. Drouet’s company. 

He accompanied me as far as Father Descharmes’ cottage, 
and asked me about the visit of the evening before. 

He also asked if the Princes had not returned. 

No ; because they have gone to Verdun,” said I. 

“ Why did they not send to hire their horses from my 
place?” 

“ Because they preferred to have them from Clermont.” 

“ Hum ! ” said M. Jean Baptiste. “ Do you know who 
thej’^ were who accompanied the Duke d’Enghien and the 
Prince de Conde ? ” 

^^I heard them mention M. Vandreul and M. Broglie.” 

Exactly,” said he. “ Ken^, they come not to inspect 
Verdun. They have abandoned the King, and quitted 
France. They have gone to intrigue with strangers.” 

Then I remembered the sadness of the Duke d’Enghien ; 
and I called to mind his peculiar look, when I said that an 
Austrian or Prussian were easier to shoot than a pigeon. I 
also remembered his last words before leaving — “ I hope 
that you will always think of me with kindness.” 

Poor Prince ! He had left France, and that was the 
cause of his sorrow. 

Would that all would follow his example,” murmured 
M. Drouet, “ from the first to the last ! But,” continued 
he, grinding his teeth, I fancy that if the King or Queen 
were to try that move, they would not escape so easily.” 


56 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


CHAPTEK IX. 

I GO TO MAKE CAPTIVES AND AM TAKEN CAPTIVE 
MYSELF. 

Our national Guard was at first a curious sight. 

The first rank were armed with guns ; the second with 
scythes ; the third with clubs, and so on. 

Later on, the armorers made some pikes for those who 
had no guns. 

But however the guard was armed, there is no doubt but 
that it was filled with enthusiasm. 

Not a man, had he received the order, would have hesi- 
tated to march on Paris. 

What was most remarkable, with regard to this corps, 
was the manner in which the battalions seemed, as it were, 
to spring from the earth. Liberty was as yet quite young ; 
and yet she had only to strike with her foot on the ground, 
to raise this deadly harvest of men. 

It was in the sainted year of 1789 that all Prance became 
soldiers. After the 14th J uly, every Frenchman was born 
with teeth ready to bite a cartridge. 

Villages and towns joined in one compact ; and that was, 
to mutually help each other when necessary. 

One day, we saw arrive, by way of Clermont, the people 
of Verdun ; and, by way of Paris, the people of St. Mene 
hould. 

They had heard that a band of robbers had issued from 
the Forest of Argonne, set fire to Islettes, and plundered 
the village. 

A hundred men from Clermont, under the command of 
M. Matthieu, and two hundred from St. Menehould, under 
M. Drouet, had therefore set out, to render what assistance 
they might in the extermination of the brigands, of whom 
they had as yet not seen a trace. 

They made merry, therefore, instead of fighting, and in 
the place of the rattle of musketry, w^as heard the more 
peaceful song. 

Eight days afterwards, a man passed on horseback, going 
from Clermont to St. Menehould, and crying out, ‘‘ The 
brigands are marchin g on Varennes ! Help ! help ! ” 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


67 


The man disappeared from view — none knew him. No 
matter, all leaped np; the drum beat the rappel; fifty men 
put themselves under the direction of Bertrand ; and, with- 
out inquiring the number of the enemy, marched to Yaren- 
nes. Needless to say, I was one of them. 

From the height of the hill of Veuvilly, we saw a great 
cloud of dust, about half a league ahead of us. 

They were the men of Clermont, who, having started 
about half an hour before us, were about half a league 
ahead. 

At that sight, all elevated their hats on the ends of their 
muskets or pikes, and shouted “ Yive la nation ! 

That cry had almost completely taken the place of Vive 
leBoi!^^ 

We arrived at Yarennes, which we expected to find in 
flames, with the streets running blood. From the height 
of the hill, which descends to the Hue des Religieuses, we 
had a good view of the town. 

All was quiet. 

The people of Clermont, when they first arrived, were 
taken for *the brigands, whom they were expecting every 
moment. 

When they recognised them, there was a general em- 
bracing, and crying “ Yive la nation ! ” 

Then we arrived, in our turn ; and two hours afterwards, 
the men of Montfalcon, De Bousance, and De Youziez. 
The latter had marched eight leagues in five hours. 

They bivouacked in the Place de Latry, and the Place 
de Grand Monarque. 

They then laid out tables for a public repast, where, after 
an ancient custom, each one chose his companions, and 
found his own dinner. 

I had one visit to pay in Yarennes — a place to which I 
seldom came, and where I only knew two persons, M. Guil- 
laume and M. Billaud. 

I remembered me of one of the two master workmen 
who had priced my carpentry work for M. Drouet ; and 
who said that if I had no work to do, and would accept it 
of him, he could always find me plenty. 

His name was Father Gerbaut. 

I asked his address. He lived in the Eue de la Basse 
CouT. The houses were not numbered at that period. On 


68 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


the left, descending to the Place Latry, next door to a largo 
grocer’s, his house was situated. 

I called. He was out; but expected home every 
moment. 

I was received by his daughter, a charming girl, a little 
younger than myself — that is to say, about sixteen or 
seventeen years of age. 

She asked me to wait till her father returned, or to give 
her my name if I feared becoming weary of sta^dng with 
her. 

Of course, I rejected with scorn the idea that any one 
could become wearied in the presence of one so gracious 
and charming. 

It was the first time in my life that I had ever addressed 
a compliment to a female. 

Indeed, it was the first time that I had been in conversa- 
tion with a girl at all. 

Up to this time, I had scarcely given women a moment’s 
consideration. 

Directly I told my name to the young girl, her face, 
which had before been amiable, brightened into a look of 
friendship. 

“ I know you,” said she ; you w^orked for M. Drouet ; 
my father has mentioned you to his workmen, more than 
once, as an example to be followed. Do stay ; he will be 
glad to see j^ou.” 

On looking around me, I perceived a harpsichord. 

You are a musician, I perceive, mademoiselle.” 

Oh, Monsieur R(5ne, you must not call me that. The 
organist of St. Ugengoulf has given me a few lessons ; and, 
as he says I have some voice, I practise singing to amuse 
myself.” 

Mademoiselle,” said I, can you believe that I have 
never heard the sound of a harpischord, or any song, but 
that of the washerwomen, as they beat their linen ? Will 
you sing something for me as well as yourself, and I shall 
be completely happy ? ” 

“ With the greatest pleasure,” she replied. 

And rising up, she crossed over to the harpischord; and, 
after a simple prelude, she sang — 

“ How sad to me the day 
When thou art far away I ” 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 59 

Every one knows that pretty romance, the Devin de 
Village.” 

But it had never seemed so charming to me as when 
issuing from the lips of my pretty songstress. 

Mademoiselle Gerhaut had sang very simply, hut with 
that coquetry so natural to women. Her face was variable ; 
and as she sang without accompaniment, leaning slightly 
back in her chair, her half-closed eyes gave a somewhat 
sentimental expression to the rest of her face. Her mouth 
was beautifully formed, she spoke almost without any per- 
ceptible movement of the lips, and you saw, at the first 
glance, that what she said was neither artificial nor con- 
strained. 

I was delighted with her. I said nothing, but my looks 
spoke more than words could have done. 

^‘Mademoiselle,” said I, not being able, in my enthusi- 
asm, to think of any thing else, “ have you read 
‘Emile?'” 

“Ho; monsieur,” she replied; “but my mother has read 
it, and that is why I am named Sophie.” 

“ You are named Sophie ! ” cried I, seizing her hand, 
and pressing it to my heart ; “ now I am completely 
happy ! ” 

She looked at me with an astonished smile. 

“ And why are you so happy because my name is 
Sophie ? ” said she. 

“ Because now I can look upon you as a sister more than 
a stranger. Oh, Sophie — dear Sophie I ” 

Sophie regarded me with a more astonished expression 
of face than ever ; and I know not what she might have 
said, had not M. Gerbaut made his appearance at that 
moment. 

“ Ah ! is that you, Rene ? ” said he ; “ you are, indeed, 
welcome. I asked the news from your friends on the 
Place til ere, and when they told me that you were at Var- 
ennes, I knew you would not go without calling to see me.” 

“Yes, M. Gerbaut,” I answered, going up to him, and 
shaking his hand ; “ but I did not expect to find w’hat I 
have found.” 

“ And, pray, what have you found ? ” 

“ Mademoiselle Sophie, who has been kind enough to 
sing me an air fron the ‘ Devin de Village de M. Rous- 
seau.' ” 


60 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


“ Ah, indeed ! She did not require much persuasion, did 
Bhe?^^ 

‘^Only great men, or great fools, require to he asked 
twice,’’ said Sophie, laughing ; and as I am not a genius 
or a ” 

Here she paused, while a sweet smile played over her 
lips. 

Fool,” continued M. Gerhaut, you sang to him.’’’ 

Did I do wrong, father ? ” 

Certainly not. As long as you sing to your equals, 
and without affectation, well and good. You know what I 
mean ? ” 

Sophie hent her eyes, blushing. 

“We must change our quarters, I think,” said Father 
Gerhaut, half smiling, half serious. 

“Wherefore?” said I, breaking into the conversation. 

“Because we are just opposite to the ^ Hotel de Bras 
d’Or,’ where many handsome young gentlemen put up, and 
who are fond of music as a vehicle for making love.” 

“ Oh, father ! ” murmured Sophie ; say not so ! ” 

“What would you have?” cried M. Gerhaut. “They 
are no friends of mine who would bring trouble into peace- 
ful families. When I understood that the princes and 
great lords had left the country, I had hoped that these 
gentlemen would have gone in their train. But no ; they 
stay to make love to our wives and daughters, and to con- 
spire against the nation. But this is not the time to speak 
of that. This is a fete day for Varennes. I must pay a 
visit to the cellar and larder. After dinner we will have a 
dance. Will you be Sophie’s partner?” said M. Ger- 
baut to me. 

“I should he only too happy,” cried I; “but perhaps 
Mdle. Sophie does not think a young apprentice worthy of 
offering her his arm ? ” 

“ Oh, M. Bene ! ” said the young girl ; “ you listen to 
my father, and then do me a grevious wrong, without any 
foundation for it.” 

Sophie and myself hounded down the staircase, and in a 
moment found ourselves under a bright sun in the street, 
as I could not help thinking, like two butterflies emerged 
from a chrysalis state. 

Whilst I had been waiting at M. Gerbaut’s, and whilst 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 61 

I had been listening to Sophie’s song, the streets of Yaren- 
nes had undergone a great change. 

The city was holding high holiday, with which, however, 
was mingled a certain degree of solemnity. 

All the houses were hung with tapestry ; and outside the 
doors tables were laid, covered with flowers, at which the 
inhabitants of the houses were seated, eating, waited upon 
by their servants, if they had any ; if not, by themselves. 

As if they wished that the dead should participate in 
the joy of the living, garlands of green boughs, inter- 
mingled with flowers, were suspended from the gates of the 
cemetery, which stretched from the church to the side of 
the Eue de PHorloge. In the middle of the Place was 
erected a scaffolding, filled with amateur musicians, who 
wished to promote a dance after dinner. On the front of 
this temple of Terpischore was written “ Vive le Koi I 
Yive la nation!” Underneath this, in large letters, was 
inscribed the word “ Praternite ! ” 

It was, in fact a brotherly rejoicing. ’ Those who there 
met for the first time were members of one great family, 
which had existed for centuries, only it ignored the tie 
which bound one to the other. 

But common danger had caused to meet the two ends of 
the thread, and in their union they- found force. 

After passing the houses leading to the Place Latry, we 
arrived at the open space in front of the Hue de THorloge, 
and entered into the midst of the crowd. 

There seemed to be collected all the inhabitants of the 
High Town. 

In each street the tables were arranged on the right and 
left side of the houses ; a space in the middle being left for 
the promenaders. The Hue des Beligieuses, which runs 
down from the foot of the hill, made a most perfect and 
picturesque view. 

We got mixed up with a lot of other persons, when all of 
a sudden a crowd of horsemen — young gentlemen, appar- 
ently — appeared on the crest of the hill, and, putting their 
horses at full gallop, dashed into the Hue des Beligieuses. 
There was a general cry of Each one for himself 1 ” and 
we turned to fly ; but as we had been in front before, we 
now naturally found ourselves in the rear. 

Thinking but of Sophie, I wished to put her under one 


62 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


of the tables, to oe out of the way of danger ; hut curious 
to relate, she did not seem to know the peril she was in, 
and would not stir till it was too late ; and I had just time 
to clasp her in my arms, and throw myself in front of her. 

I had scarcely accomplished this, than, on turning round, 
I discovered myself face to face with a horseman, whose 
steed was perfectly unmanageable, and turned round and 
round, threatening us with his hoofs as he did so. 

I had but one hope, and that was to preserve Sophie. I 
caught hold of the horse’s bridle, the cavalier raised his 
whip, the horse gave a plunge, and, whether through acci- 
dent or intention, the blow, instead of falling on the horse, 
struck me on the shoulder. 

The shame of being struck, more than the pain of the 
blow, caused the blood to rise to my head. I seized the 
horseman by his waist, lifted him from the saddle, the 
horse bolting away at the moment, upsetting a woman and 
two or three children in its wild career, and fell with him 
on the pavement; but, being the more vigorous, I was the 
uppermost, and soon had him at my mercy, with my knee 
on his breast. 

It was only when his hat fell from his head, that I re- 
cognised who my adversary was. 

M. de Malmy ! ” cried I. 

And taking my knee from his breast, and releasing his 
arms, I stood a little on one side. 

“ Ah, wretch ! ” cried he regaining his whip. Do you 
know what is the penalty for laying hands on a gentle- 
man ? ” 

M. le Viscount ! ” cried Sophie, pale with terror, placing 
herself, at the same time, between us. 

He smiled a grim smile, grinding his teeth as he did so. 
am determined, mademoiselle. Had he been a 
gentleman, I would chastise him with a sword ; but as he 
is not, I shall punish him with this whip.’^ 

He raised it. 

I looked for something with which to defend myself. At 
that moment, a man sprang over one of the tables, seized 
the Marquis with one hand, and possessed himself of the 
whip with the other. 

“ Monsieur,” said he, whips were made for horses and 
dogs. Ken^ Besson is a man.” 


LOVE AKD LIBERTY. 


63 


A man ? ” repeated the Viscount, furiously. 

Yes, a man ; and one whom you may not insult.’^ 

Who are you ? ” asked the Viscount. 

“ You know me very well, M. de Mai my ; but as you ask, 
I will tell you. I am Jean Baptiste Drouet, postmaster at 
St. Menehould. I am not of noble birth, I know full well ; 
but for six years have I served my country as a soldier, and 
that is better than a gentleman who spends his life in eat- 
ing, drinking, and hunting. This I say for the benefit of 
you and your friends, and if you want me, you know where 
to find me.” 

Saying these words, Drouet pushed De Malmy aside, 
and turned to confront two or three other young gentlemen, 
who, having dismounted, had come to join in the quarrel. 

“ When we change horses at your post-house, M. Drou- 
et,” said one of these young men, “ we do not generally 
approach, but send our domestics to bear our orders to 
you.” 

I would much rather deal with your servants than with 
you, M. de Courtement. They, at least, have not sold their 
wives or daughters in the Parc au Cerfs.” 

The young noble took this as a sarcasm on his birth, 
with regard to which infamous reports had been bruited 
about. 

He had a hunting-knife in his belt, and suddenly drew 
it, maddened with anger. 

But before the knife could do any mischief, Drouet drew 
a pistol from his pocket, and presented it full in the face of 
the Chevalier. 

“ Monsieur,” said he, I could shoot you like I would a 
wild beast; and two hundred people would bear witness 
that you offered the first insult; but the time has not 
yet come when all shall have their dues. So go your way 
in peace, and let the matter stand as it is.” 

‘‘Oh, without doubt, that proceeding would suit you 
wonderfully well,” said M. de Malmy ; “ but, for the sake 
of an example, I must proceed otherwise.” 

Baising his whip, he advanced on M. Drouet, who, mak- 
ing a spring to one side, jumped on a table, and cried out, 
in a powerful tone of voice, “Help I To my assistance, 
men of St. Menehould ! ” 

A hundred voices responded to the cry ; a crowd rushed 


64 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


to where we were ; and in a moment, the five or six gentle- 
men were completelj’’ in our power. 

Each had seized the arms that came nearest to hand — 
one a pike, another a musket ; thus showing by their alac- 
rity, tlieir wish to be of service to their commander. They 
were informed of the origin of the dispute, and wished 
nothing better than to fan up the embers of the old quarrel 
between the nobles and the people. 

The young gentlemen saw that it was useless to attempt 
resistance. 

Murder us ! ” cried the Viscount ; even as your 
friends at Paris have murdered De Launay, Eoulon, and 
Perth ier.” 

“ Our friends, as you call them, in Paris, disgraced them- 
selves by laying hands on men who were scarcely good 
enough to die by the hands of the common executioner. 
But what would jmu have ? The people have cried for jus- 
tice, and it has been denied them. Is it, then, wonderful 
that they should take the law in their own hands when the 
opportunity presented ? But as for you, gentlemen, as you 
are not gaolers, like De Launay, or extortioners, like Fou- 
lon and Berthier, you have not merited death, but simply 
a little lesson, which I shall have great pleasure in giving 
you.’’ 

“ Give a lesson to us ? ” cried the young men, mad with 
rage. 

“ Yes ; but it shall not be harsh or spiteful. This is a 
day of brotherly fraternity. Are you our brothers ? Will 
you share in our fete? Forget the hard words that have 
passed between us ; or, if you cannot, put them down to 
the account of that goddess who is aptly called Discord. 
The tables await you. Sit down among us, and we will 
give you the place of honor ; and the first one who forgets 
to pay the respect which is due to you, shall be chased from 
the midst of us, as one unworthy of participating in our 
reunion. Do you agree with me ? ” cried Drouet to all 
who were around. 

“ Yes ! yes ! ” replied all, with one voice, with the excep- 
tion of the young nobles, who still continued silent. 

What if we refuse ? ” at last said one of them. 

If you refuse,” said Drouet, go to the ^ Bras d’Or,’ 
or the ‘ Grand Monarque ; ’ eat and drink as you like — 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


65 


are free ; but disturb not our enjoyment. Am I not right, 
my friends ? ” continued Drouet, for the second time ad- 
dressing the crowd. 

The applause was as loud as before. 

And if we do not promise to leave you in quiet enjoy- 
ment of your fete — what then ? ” asked another of the 
young nobles. 

As, by that act, you will prove that you are not good 
citizens, and that you are desirous of breaking the public 
peace, we shall ask you to leave the town quietly ; and; if 
you refuse, we will expel you by force.” 

“ Bravo ! bravo ! ” cried all. 

M. de Malmy interrogated his companions with his 
eyes ; and as he saw the same expression in all theirs, 

Messieurs,” said he, “ I regret that, in the name of my 
friend and myself, I must refuse the great honor that you 
offer us. I regret, also, that we cannot pledge our word 
not to interrupt the fete, as we are not sufficient philoso- 
phers to avoid breaking our promise ; so — as we have no 
further business to detain us in town — we ask your per- 
mission to make our most respectful adieu, and to go and 
seek our pleasure elsewhere.” 

“As you wish, M. le Viscount,” said M. Drouet. “You 
are free to go.” Then, assuming the tone of command 
which sat so well on him, he said, “ Allow these gentlemen 
to pass, and preserve complete silence ; the one who passes 
a remark, will have to answer for it to me.” 

Not a sound could be heard. 

In the midst of this oppressive silence, the young nobles 
remounted their horses, and returned by the way that they 
had arrived. 

No word was spoken, no movement made; but the 
people followed the little party with their eyes until they 
finally disappeared from view on turning into the road 
leading to Clermont. 

Then a voice was heard, calm, but commanding in its 
tones. It w^as Drouet’s. 

“ Lieutenant Bertrand,” said he, “ place sentinels at the 
gates and see that the young nobles do not re-enter the 
town, during the continuance of the 

Then, turning to the crowd, “ Am I not right, my 
friends ? ” said he. 

4 


66 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


“ Vive M. Drouet ! Vive la nation ! ” cried the people, 
with one voice. 

A few cries of “ Down with the nobles ! were heard, 
but they had no response. In fact, Drouet turned to 
whence those cries proceeded, and made a gesture of 
disapprobation. 

The fete then continued as happily as if nothing had 
happened 


CHAPTER X. 

TOUCHING MADEMOISELLE SOPHIE. 

I HAVE said how much my encounter with De Malmy 
seemed to affect my companion, but that might have been 
accounted for in three ways. Eirst, her fear for herself j 
second, her fear for me j and lastly, perhaps, her fear for 
my adversary. 

I had not forgotten what Eather Gerbaut had said with 
regard to his daughter’s looking higher than her position 
warranted, and to the attention which she drew from the 
young gentlemen who put up at the Bras d’Or,” some of 
whom were, no doubt, those with whom we had been in 
contest. 

I had naturally followed, with my eyes, the little caval- 
cade, until it finally disappeared. 

On withdrawing my looks from it, I perceived that 
Sophie was half fainting. I offered her my arm, which 
she took, trembling at the same time all over. 

‘^Oh, M. Ren^,” said she, ‘‘I was so frightened ! How 
glad I am that it ended as it did ! ” 

Eor whom was she frightened? and for whose sake was 
she so glad that all was over ? 

Was it for our sakes, or for that of the young lords? 

I did not like to ask her. 

M. Drouet walked along the Place with us. We passed 
under the arch, and entered the Rue de la Basse. Cour 
Billaud lived some distance away, and Guillaume almost in 
the country j so those three young men went to the ‘‘ Hotel 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


67 


du Bras d^Or,” and although the brothers Leblanc wished 
to give them a dinner for nothing, they insisted on paying 
for everything that they had. 

The table at which they dined was on the other side of 
the street, just opposite to ours. 

The clock of St. Gengoulf gave the signal for dinner. 

The two first toasts proposed were “The King!” and 
“ The nation ! ” They then drank another “ To the health 
of those who, believing them to be in danger, had flown to 
their succor.” 

Sophie eat hut little, in spite of my remonstrances. Now 
and then, her father broke out into violent abuse against 
the young nobles, and I saw the tears trembling on her eye- 
lashes every time that he did so. 

We crossed the bridge thrown over the River Aire. Two 
streams of promenaders were continually passing — the one 
set mounting up, the other coming down. The Place du 
Grand Monarque was splendidly illuminated. The tables 
were not in any one’s way, being, for the most part, piled 
in front of the door of the church. 

The Place du Grand Monarque being smoother and 
better paved than the Place Latry and, besides, not having 
the dispiriting influence of a cemetery, was chosen for the 
ball room. 

The signal for the dance was given by a joyous peal from 
the church bells, to which violins and clarionets replied, and 
a quadrille was speedily formed. 

My partner took my arm for the second dance, but sud- 
denly complaining of illness, she implored me to take her 
home. 

I was not an experienced dancer, but under Sophie’s tui- 
tion I got on so well, that I tried all I could to dissuade her 
from retiring ; but she said, with a sad smile, “ Do not ask 
me to remain, R4n^,” and so I was obliged to comply with 
her request. 

I gave her my arm, and we retraced our steps to the 
house. 

M. Gerbaut had heard all about the fracas in the Rue des 
Religieuses, and was very well pleased that we had given 
the young gentlemen a lesson. 

Sophie, who had her arm in mine, heard all that he said 
to me, with downcast eyes, and gave no sign of approbation 
or otherwise, but I felt her shudder under her father’s words. 


68 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


As I was leaving, Mademoiselle,*’ said I, I go back 
to-morrow, with my friends, probably before you awake j so 
permit me to say good-bye this evening, and to tell you be- 
fore M. Gerbaut, what pleasure I feel in having made your 
acquaintance.” 

“ And I, M. Kene,” said she, “ like you as a friend, and 
am well disposed to love you as a brother.” 

“Very well, my children,” said Father Gerbaut, “em- 
brace each other and say good-bye.” 

Sophie turned to me both cheeks, which I kissed with a 
feeling of ineffable pleasure. 

She then retired to her own room ; I followed her with 
my eyes to the door, when she turned, and gave me a parting 
glance, and a parting smile. 

“ She is a good girl, after all,” said her father. 

“ A good girl, M. Gerbaut ? Say, rather, an angel ! ” 

“ Angels are not so common as all that, my boy. But,” 
continued he, leading me along the corridor, and opening a 
door, “ here is your room, not only for to-night, but for 
ever, if you will enter into my service. You shall have 
board and lodging, and twenty-five crowns a month. Do 
you hear me ? ” 

I shook him by the hand, and thanked him for his kind- 
ness. He then wished me to come down stairs again, to 
drink a glass to the health of the nation. But I pleaded 
fatigue, and want of sleep, and entered my chamber. 

The real reason why I did not comply with his offer, was 
that I wished to be alone. 

I shut the door, for I was afraid that any one might come 
and look for me. But there was no fear of that. Every 
one was so busy enjoying himself, that they had no time to 
think of aught else. 

I threw myself on the bed, and thought of Sophie. 

M. Drouet had given me a sincere liking for intellectual 
existence, but Sophie awakened in me another kind of exis- 
tence, that of love ; and I felt, for the first time, that inde- 
scribable, but pleasurable sensation, which predicts the 
dawning of that passion. 

A new future opened before me. This was the scene. 
A happy, though, perhaps, a humble home, with a careful 
and a beloved wdfe. I could see myself, at set of sun, 
walking by the river’s side, her heart beating against mine. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


69 


I could fancy delaying under the tall teees, to hear the 
blackbird’s song. In a word, this dream of the future was 
that twofold life which, till then, had never engaged my 
boyish thoughts. Now, I seemed to have taken one step 
into this fairyland ; and, although I trembled still, I would 
fain go on. 

What, then, prevented me, I asked myself, from making 
this dream a reality ? Why did I not at once close with 
M. Gerbaut’s offer? It was because my heart misgave me. 
I thought of Sophie’s evident leaning towards men of a 
higher class ; I reflected that, to her, I must be a mere boy. 
And I groaned in spirit that I was not half-a-dozen years 
older. 

At daybreak, the reveilld .was beaten. My comrade had 
passed the night on the Place and in the streets, dancing 
and drinking. I jumped from my couch, and, having hast- 
ily dressed myself, crept on tip-toe to the door of Sophie’s 
chamber, wishing to say adieu, even if only through the 
key-hole. 

I had trodden as lightly as possible, scarcely hearing my 
own footsteps ; and how great was my astonishment on 
seeing the door open a little way, and a hand put out. 

It was easy to see, through the crevice from which the 
hand was protruded, that Sophie had not retired to rest at 
all ; or, if she had, that she had not undressed herself. 

I seized the hand, and pressed it to my lips. 

She withdrew it, leaving, at the same time, a little billet 
in mine, and quickly closed the door. 

I could scarcely believe my eyes. I approached a win- 
dow, and, by the light of early dawn, read these words : — 

“ I have no friends, Pen4. Be one to me. I am very 
unhappy ! ” 

I pressed, with one hand, the billet to my heart, and, 
with the other extended towards her chamber, I swore to 
accept and prove myself worthy of the friendship so mys- 
teriously offered. 

Then, perceiving that all was quiet in her room, I went 
down stairs, took my gun, and, throwing one parting glance 
at her window, passed into the street. 

The curtain drew back, giving me a glimpse of her face. 


70 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


She nodded, throwing me a sad smile, and the curtain was 
replaced before the window. 

Small as the time was that I had for observation, I could 
not help thinking that her eyes were reddened with weep- 
ing. 

There was nothing wonderful in that. Had she not told 
me, in her letter, that she was very unhappy ? 

There was a mystery, which, no doubt, thought I, time 
will clear up. 

I walked rapidly down the street, in the direction of the 
Place, knowing that, if 1 did not make a vigorous effort, I 
should never be able to tear myself away from the vicinity 
of the house. 

The men of Clermont, D’Islettes, and St. Menehould— 
in fact, all who followed the same route — were collected in 
one group. They drank one last toast, shook hands for the 
last time, and separated. 

Father Gerbaut conducted us as far as the top of the 
Hill des Religieuses, and there renewed the offers that he 
had previously made to me. 

I reached Father Descharmes’ cottage, and, for the first 
time> found it lonely, and my room wretched. 

On the morrow, X recommenced my usual routine of life ; 
and though I had the same wish to make progress in my 
studies, still there was a dreary blank in my heart, which 
they could not fill. 


CHAPTER XI. 

WHAT “brotherhood” MEANT. 

I HAVE told you all that took place up to this time. 

My life continued the same as ever, with the exception 
of a dreary feeling about the heart. 

The events that took place in Paris had no direct effect 
upon me. I heard them as one might hear the echo of a 
distant thunder-clap. 

In this way we heard of the abolition of titles, on the 
1st of August ; of the suppression of tithes ; of the recog- 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


71 


nition of religious liberty; of the orgie of the gardes du 
corps ; of the insult offered to the national cockade ; of the 
days of the 5th and 6th of October ; of the return of the 
King and Queen to Paris; of the plots and intrigues of 
the Court; of the prosecution of Bezenval and Favras; 
and of the publication of the Bed Book by the assembly. 

The Bed Book revealed all. 

The King, who had, on the 12th of February, sworn 
friendship to the Constitution, not only was in direct cor- 
respondence with the exiles, but^went to Treves, a military 
post, where his stables were situated, and which was in 
charge of Prince Lambese, the very man who hj^ charged 
on the people in the garden of the Tuileries, on the 12th 
of J ulj’, and wounded an old man with his sabre, and trod- 
den the helpless under foot. 

The same kind of thing went on at Versailles. The 
King had a Minister of Foreign Affairs; uniforms were 
made for the gardes du corps, and sent to Treves ; horses 
were bought in England for the accommodation of the 
King’s household ; and the only grumble that Louis XVI 
made, when he paid the bills, was, that, at least, they might 
have bought the horses in France. 

The Comte D’ Artois, the Prince Cond^, and the other 
exiles, received enormous pensions. 

They had not then been able to find what became of the 
sixty millions. 

But now the Bed Book pointed out where they had 
gone. 

If, up to this moment, there had been any hesitation on 
the minds of the people, that hesitation now disappeared. 

They knew where was their enemy. 

The enemy was the exiles, and their ally, the King, who 
pensioned them. 

This was the reason why the Assembly struck a decisive 
blow, and put up for sale, at one time, ecclesiastical bene- 
fices to the tune of four hundred millions. Paris alone 
bought two hundred millions’ worth. 

All the municipalities followed that example. They 
bought a great number, and then sold them, one by one. 
In a word, they wushed to expropriate the clergy, and 
they did hesitate to do it. 

There is something miraculous in this, and which does 
not appear in the history of any other country. 


72 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


And that is, the spontaneous organization of France hy 
itself. The Assembly was only a secretary. France did 
the deed ; the Assembly registered it. 

Before that, the division of old France into provinces was 
abolished ; the boundaries had been already changed ; there 
were no longer Proven 9 als, Bretons, Alsaciens, Picards, or 
French. 

The Champ de Mars was Mount Tabor, transfigured by 
the sun of June. 

Valence gave, on the 29th of November, 1789, the exam- 
ple of the first federation; and each strove to follow the 
example given by the zealous Dauphin, our vanguard 
against the great enemy, the Savoyard King. 

From anterior ages, the eldest man has always presided, 
whether noble or not. His age makes his right — his white 
locks his crown. 

Bouen searched for an old Chevalier of Malta, eighty- 
five years of age, to preside at its federation. 

In St. Audeol, there were two old men, respectively 
ninety-three and ninety-four years of age, the one a noble, 
and the other a plebeian — the one a colonel, the other a 
laborer. These two embraced at the altar, and the specta- 
tors embraced each other, crying, “ There is no longer an 
aristocracy, no longer a working-class — there are only 
Frenchmen ! ” 

At Lous le Lauheur, a citizen, whose name is forgotten, 
gave this toast : — 

To all men, equally to our enemies : let us swear to 
love and protect them.^’ 

Open the book of royalty, and see if you can find a sen- 
timent equal to that inscribed on the first page of the book 
of the people. 

From all places, provincial and isolated, one cry arose : — 

To Paris ! To Paris ! To Paris ! 

As this cry burst from the throat of France, Boyal- 
ists and Jacobins trembled. The Jacobins sai4 “The 
King, with his smile, and the Queen, with her white lips, 
will fascinate the credulous people from the provinces, and 
will cause them to turn against us, and the revolution will 
be at an end.” 

The Boyalists said. To bring these provincials, already 
ripe for tumult, to Paris, the centre of agitation, is but 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


73 


bringing oil to feed the lamp of revolution. Who can say 
what will be the effect of this immense concourse, and what 
fearful events may come to pass through the incursions of 
two hundred and fifty thousand souls, from all quarters of 
France, into Paris ? 

But the impulse was given, and the movement could not 
be stayed. 

France wished, with that powerful will which nothing 
could arrest, to know itself. 

The corporation of Paris demanded of the Assembly the 
general federation. 

The Assembly, pretending to accord to their wish, named 
the 14th of July, the anniversary of the taking of the 
Bastille. 

The news was propagated among all the provinces of the 
kingdom ; but as they feared so great an assemblage in 
Paris, and wished to put all possible obstacles in their way, 
all expenses were put down to the charge of the localities. 

All our department clubbed together. I was compara- 
tively rich, having in my possession three or four hundred 
crowns, gained by my own labor, and saved by my own 
economy. 

Father Descharmes had offered to give me what sum I 
wanted ; but I refused to accept anything. 

For some time, the poor old man had been declining hi 
health. He had served princes all his life, and now missed 
them. One thing greatly perplexed him, and that was, 
whether France had the right to act as it was acting ? 

They had offered him a deputyship to the federation ; but 
he shook his head, saying, “ I am too old ; Bene will go in 
my place.” 

Afterwards, he had a long conversation with M. prouet, 
in.the course of which he gave him some papers, which he 
sorted with care, put in his portfolio, and took to St. Mene- 
hould. 

On the eve of departure, a carriage drove up to the door 
of ray uncle’s cottage ; and, to ray astonishment, I saw 
Sophie and her father alight from it. 

I rushed out with a cry of joy, but suddenly stopped my- 
self. 

What would Sophie — what would her father think? 

Father Gerbaut smiled. Sophie made a step in advance, 
and gave me her hand. 


74 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


Well, how is old Nimrod getting on?” said Father 
Gerhaut to my uncle, who had just come out of his room. 

“ As well as can be expected at my age, M. Gerhaut. It 
is necessary for the violet to blossom in spring, and the 
beech-tree to put forth its buds in May. He is just sixteen 
and a-half years old. When I was at that age, I already 
had a sweetheart.” 

I felt myself blushing to the very tips of my ears. 

Ah ! I never had but one love. But where are you go- 
ing to in this fashion ? ” asked my uncle ; for I cannot 
think that you came all this way on purpose to pay me a 
visit.” 

‘^No, my old friend ; though I am delighted to see you. I 
am on my way to St. Menehould, to put a few little affairs 
of mine in order. I have been appointed a member of the 
Federation, and I do not know how long we may be com- 
pelled to stay in Paris.” 

“ What a pity that you have not got a third seat in your 
carriage. I also have business at St. Menehould, and I would 
have asked you to give me a lift.” 

Good ! ” said M. Gerhaut ; all can be arranged. So- 
phie does not much care to go to St. Menehould. Do you, 
Sophie ? ” 

I only care to go, so as to be with you, father.” 

^‘Well, then, stay here with Ren4. You can stroll, in 
the wood, like two lovers, and we, like two old fogies as we 
are, will go and look after our affairs. If Ben4 were a young 
nobleman, I should not place so much trust in him ; but he 
is a good lad, a clever workman, and an honest man, and as 
I would trust him with a purse, so will I trust him with my 
child.” 

I looked joyfully at Sophie, but she showed neither pleas- 
ure nor sorrow; she seemed to be exactly of her father’s 
opinion, that we might be trusted together. 

M. Gerbaut and Father Descharmes got into the vehicle, 
and drove off in the direction of the village of Islettes. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


75 


CHAPTER XII. 

WHAT PASSED IN THE FOREST. 

Eor some time I followed the carriage with my eyes, for 
I feared to look at Sophie, as I could not help thinking 
that the expression of her face would decide my future 
happiness or misery. 

After a time I made up my mind ; I turned round. 

Sophie had a smile on her lips, but it seemed as if the 
rest of. her face was overshadowed with sadness. 

I offered her my arm, which she took. 

“ What would you like to do ? ” I asked her. Would 
you rather stay here, or take a stroll in the wood ? ” 

Take me under the shadow of yon great trees, M. 
Rene. In my little chamber at Varennes I stifle for want 
of air.” 

“It is singular, Mdlle. Sophie, that I always believed 
that you preferred the town to the country.” 

“ I prefer nothing. I live, that is all.” 

She heaved a sigh. 

The conversation fell. 

I threw a side glance at Sophie. She appeared fatigued 
and in pain. 

“ You look pale,” said I ; “ and although you do not pre- 
fer the country to the town, I fancy it does you more good.” 

She shrugged her shoulders, by way of reply. 

“Perhaps,” said she. 

I turned towards my uncle’s cottage, all covered with ivy 
and creepers, surrounded by flowers and shadowed by the 
branches of chestnuts and beech-trees. 

It was beautiful, seen half in light and half in shadow. 
A cat was sleeping comfortably on the window-sill ; twc 
dogs were playing in front of the door ; and a black-headed 
linnet was singing in its cage. 

It was a beautiful picture of contented country life. 

“ Look, Mdlle. Sophie,” said I drawing her attention to 
the scene. “ Would a little place like that, with a man 
who had the honor of being beloved by you, suffice for 
your ambition ? ” 


76 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


• Who told you that I had ambition, Rene ? ” 

I ask you, do you think that you could be happy under 
those circumstances ? 

She looked at me. 

“You see, then, that I am now miserable ? ” 

“ You told me so in a letter, when I waa staying at 
Varennes, eight months ago.’’ 

“ And have you not forgotten what I wrote to you so long 
as eight months ago ? ” 

I drew a little portfolio from my pocket, and out of it I 
took a little scrap of paper, on which was written, in her 
hand — 

“ I have no friend, Rene ; will you be one ? I am very 
unhappy.” 

“ If the paper is a little crumpled,” said I, “ it is because 
a day has never passed without my reading it.” 

“ Then how is it that I have never seen you since that 
morning, Rene ? ” 

“ For what purpose ? Since you wrote to me you cannot 
have doubted me.” 

“ You have a good heart, Ren^, and I did not wish to see 
you to get that opinion from you.” 

“ That is well. If you had had need of me, you had but 
to write, and I should have been with you in a moment. 
At first, day after day, I hoped for a letter. Oh, if I had 
received one ! — had it been only the one word ^ Come ! ’ — 
with what joy would I have flown to your side ! But such 
happiness was not for me. Bays, weeks, months passed 
away, and I remained alone with my sorrow, without ever 
being called away to offer you a consolation.” 

She looked at me with an expression of affectionate 
tenderness. 

Ah, Rene, I should have liked to have seen you ; but 
not hearing from you, I thought that you had forgotten 
me.” 

“ Oh, Mdlle. Sophie ! ” I cried ; “ I am not sufficiently 
happy or unhappy for that.” 

“ In truth, my dear Rene,” said she, trying to smile, 
“you have quite the air of a hero of romance.” 

“ As I have never read a romance, I scarcely know what 
that is.” 

“ A hero of romance, Rene,” said Sophie, smiling at the 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


77 


experimental lesson in literature she was trying to give me, 
is a man who loves without hope.” 

That is good. Then am I a hero of romance. By the 
bye, what are these heroes supposed to do ? ” 

Everything impossible, in order to touch the heart of 
the woman they vainly love.” 

“ Then I am ready to do so ; but, if commanded by you, 
I should know not impossibility.” 

^^Do not put your life in danger, E^ne,” said Sophie. 
Sighing for that would not benefit either of us.” 

Now it was her turn to stop, and, having turned the 
corner of the road, she pointed out to me my uncle’s house 
under a different aspect, but still how beautiful ! 

“ You just now asked me, Eene, if that house, in com- 
pany with a man whom I loved, would not satisfy my am- 
bition ? Weir, Eene, in my turn, I adjure you, in the name 
of that friendship that I have avowed towards you, wish for 
nothing more than that calm and peaceful existence that 
Providence has placed in your way. Follow the example 
of your uncle, who, for eighty years, has lived in peace 
with himself and with all mankind, without seeking to 
better his condition, and without ever wishing for a 
larger house, or a greater extent of land. In fact, this 
forest before us — is it not his ? Do not its trees give 
him shelter ? Do not the birds which inhabit it sing 
for his gratification, and do not the animals that make 
it their home serve for his food? In name, it belongs to 
the King; but, in reality, it is his. Eene, find a woman 
who loves you ; that, I am sure, will not be difficult. My 
father tells me that you are one of the best carpenters that 
he knows. Ask the consent of your uncle — he will not 
refuse it ; and live, as he has done, on the little spot where 
the happiest years of your life have passed away.” 

In my turn, I shook my head. 

You will not ? ” said Sophie. What, then, do you 
intend to do ? ” 

Mademoiselle Sophie,” said I, I purpose being a 
man.” 

Has not your uncle been also a man, Eene ? ” 

“ Yes ; but a -man useless to his country. The times in 
which he lived, and the times in which we live, are differ- 
ent. The tranquillity which existed in his generation is 
not permitted in this.” 


78 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


‘^You are ambitious, asked Sophie. 

It is not ambition, mademoiselle ; it is obedience to the 
designs of heaven. There are times when every man, great 
or small, carries his mission in himself. What, then ? He 
must keep that mission till it is fulfilled. Who knows but 
that even I, insignificant as I am, have one ? You have 
already drawn me from the crowd of my equals, because 
you condescended to take my arm. It was not all that I 
could have wished. Oh, Sophie, I ask you, here, under the 
shelter of these great trees, the most sacred temple that I 
know of, will you promise to be mine ? Will you give me 
all the love that you can, and the happiest day of my life 
will be that on which I can prove my devotion to you I 
Oh, Sophie, give me hope ! ” 

‘‘ I believe you, R4ne j in fact, from the first moment I saw 
you, I never doubted you. Ah ! why were you not always 
with me, to support me with your arm when I stumbled, 
and with your heart when I doubted ? I have called on 
you many times, Rene.” 

Can this be true. Mademoiselle Sophie ? ” cried I, filled 
with joy. 

“Yes,” said she, “but do not misunderstand me. I do 
not love you. I never shall love you, Rene,” continued 
she, looking me ftill in the face. “ 1 feel instinctively that 
I have need of your friendship. Why I should implore it, 
how it can be useful to me, I know not ; but still I feel 
sure I shall have recourse to it some day ; and if you are 
away from me, Rene, on that day, whose help shall I im- 
plore ? If you are near to me, I can rely on you ; can I 
not ? Again I say to you, as I wrote once before, I am 
truly unhappy.” 

She took her arm from mine, hid her face in her hand, 
and I could see by the heaving of her bosom that she was 
weeping. 

“ Mademoiselle Sophie ! ” said I. 

“ Leave me, my friend — leave me. I do not like to weep 
before you, and I feel that I must weep.” 

And, with one hand, she made me a sign to go. 

I obeyed. 

She sat down by the side of a little brook, which fell 
into the Bresme, and taking off her hat, which she placed 
by her side, began to pluck fiowers, and throw them into 
the water. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


79 


Sixty years have passed since that day, and I fancy that 
I can stiil see the poor child with her golden hair floating 
in the breeze, the tears coursing down her cheeks, throwing 
the flowers into the current of the Bresme, which would 
carry them to the Aisne, the Aisne to the Oise, the Oise to 
the Seine, and the Seine to the sea. 

After about an hour had passed, she got up silently, came 
towards me, and smilingly took my arm. 

We retraced our steps to my uncle’s house. 

We had scarcely arrived, when we heard the sound of 
wheels. It was Father Gerbaut’s carriage. 

Sophie, who had not spoken one word all the way home, 
seized my hand. 

“ B4ne,” she said, “ do not forget that you have given me 
your word ; I trust j’^ou.” 

Mademoiselle Sophie,” said I, pressing her hand to my 
heart, one call alone can be stronger than yours — that of 
my country.” 

M. Gerbaut stayed about an hour to rest his horse, and 
then, with Sophie, mounted into his vehicle. 

The poor girl waved her hand. Father Gerbaut cried 
“ Farewell ! ” and the carriage disappeared behind a clump 
of trees, which hid the road to Meuvilly. 

I returned to where Sophie had been sitting down; I 
picked up the flowers she had let fall, and placed them in 
my little portfolio, together with the letter which she had 
written to me at Varennes, and in which she had poured 
forth all her soul. 


CHAPTEE XIII. 

THE PEOPLE IN COUNCIL. 

On the morrow, the ninth of July, ’90, we were en route 
at daybreak, drums beating in front of us, to assist in the 
celebration of the grand fete of the general federation. 

Father Descharmes embraced me, with an expression of 
sorrow which wounded me to the heart. 

Perhaps you youngsters are in the right,” said he, “ and 


80 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


vre old men are in the wrong. But what will you, my child. 
One cannot give up in two days the creed of sixty years.^^ 

I know not what may come of all this, hut I hope that 
my eyes will be closed in death before it does come.’’ 

“ But uncle,” said I, “ although it would be a great treat 
to me to go to Paris and see the fete, still, if you wish it, I 
will not go.” 

“ No, my boy, go ; and heaven grant that I may live to 
see your return, and that we may meet again in this 
world.” 

I embraced him as I wept, for I loved him dearly. 

Had he not fed and clothed me and brought me up, and 
watched the infant become, under his roof a man ? 

Bring my arm-chair to the door,” said he; “I do not 
wish to lose the last glimpse of the setting sun.” 

I obeyed. Leaning on my shoulder he reached the door, 
and sitting down in the chair, took my hand, and kissed me, 
Baying Go ! ” 

I departed, returning in time to see this good old servi- 
tor of royalty die. With kingcraft he suffered, and with 
its death he died. 

When I lost sight of him, it seemed as if I had left him 
for ever, and I felt half inclined to return at once, never to 
leave him ; but the temptation of seeing Paris was too 
much for me, and in another moment we were in sight of 
the houses of Islettes. 

A surprise awaited me there. 

The inhabitants, not wishing to be separated from their 
Cure, had put him into a little carriage drawn by a horse, 
and the good priest, his eyes overflowing with tears, was 
bidding farewell to Mademoiselle Marguerite, who wept on 
the steps in front of the door of the Presbytery. 

In those days, a journey of forty leagues was no small 
matter, and the poor girl believed that the good Abb4 For- 
tin had departed for ever. 

We continued our route, the drums beating, and the car- 
riage rolling ahead of us. Some of our party pressed on in 
front, to form an escort of honor for the worthy priest. 

We found M. Drouet awaiting us at the head of the 
deputation, on the Place of St. Menehould. 

Amongst the deputation, was an old soldier of the Seven 
Fears War, who had served under Marshal Saxe, and who 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


81 


was present at the battle of Fontenoy ; and a sailor, who 
was in active service at the time of the birth of the Bailli 
de SulFren. Both, living ruins of an ancient regime, 
wished to witness the dawn of a new era. 

M. Drouet had placed a carriage at their service, but 
they would not use it. It therefore proceeded empty in the 
midst of the cortege^ in the front rank of which the two 
veterans marched with heads erect — a benediction, as it 
were, hestow'ed by the dead era on the age which was just 
about to dawn. 

All the high roads of France were tilled with processions 
like ours, all hastening to one great focus — Paris. 

Never since the Crusade had so great a number, of 
their own will, bent their steps in one direction. 

All along the road, deputations came to greet the travel- 
lers. 

They offered hospitality to the old men and priests. It 
was impossible to provide for all, so the main body bivou- 
acked in the open air. 

Great fires were lighted, at which every one prepared hia 
simple meal. There was no lack of wine in a country 
which particularly cultivated grapes. 

On the morrow, at daybreak, all started at heat of drum. 
When the noise of the drum ceased, all joined in the chorus 
of the Ca ira of ’90, which has nothing in common with 
the menacing and bloodthirsty Ca ira of ’93. 

This song kept up the energies of those men on the 
march, who were toiling along under a hot July sun, to the 
end of the journey. It supported those laborers w^ho were 
making the arena, so to speak, where great deeds were to 
he done. 

We have said that it was with an unwilling heart that 
the Assembly decreed the federation — that it was with an 
unwilling heart that tlie city had sent its workmen to the 
Champ de Mars, to prepare for that great and solemn 
reunion. The time approached — the work did not proceed. 
What happened? 

All Paris rose, and proceeded to the Champ de Mars 
carrying various implements of labor — one a pickaxe 
another a shovel, and so on. 

And not only did the people — not only did the hourgeosie 
do this, but old men and children, lords and laborers, ladies 

5 


82 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


of rank and women of shame, actors and actresses, priests 
and soldiers, — all joined in the work, which did not even 
close when night fell like a shroud over the city of Paris. 

The invalids, who could not work on account of their 
being maimed, held the torches, to lighten them at their 
labors. 

Begun in the morning of the 9th of July, this stupen- 
dous work was completed in the night of the 13th, two 
hours before sunrise. 

We arrived on the 12th, in the evening. 

Paris was crowded ; but, strange to say, the hotel 
keepers and letters of lodgings, instead of raising their 
prices, lowered them considerably. This spoke well for the 
disposition of Paris towards us. 

Truly this was not the federation of France, but the fra- 
ternal greeting of the world. 

A Prussian Baron — Jean Baptiste de Clootz, better 
known by the name of Anacharsis — presented himself 
before the National Assembly with twenty men of differ- 
ent nations — Bussians, Poles, men of the north, men of 
the west, men of the east, and men of the south, — all 
habited in the costume of their country. He came to ask 
permission for them to appear at tlie federation of the 
Champ de Mars, as they wished to represent the federa- 
tion of the world. 

Later on, this same Anacharsis Clootz wished to give 
twelve thousand francs, to make war against royalty. 

One may imagine my astonishment on finding myself in 
Paris, on the Boulevards, gazing at the ruins of the Bas- 
tille. 

Drouet pointed it out to me, afterwards, the patriotic work- 
men on the Champ de Mars. I rushed to join them j and, 
seizing a spade, was speedily hard at work. 

My fellow- workman appeared to be an artizan of about 
fifty years of age. He gave orders to a boy about my age, 
who was close at hand. 

On seeing the ardor with which I worked, he asked me 
who I was, and whence I came. 

I told him that my name was B^n^ Besson ; that I came 
from the new department of the Meuse ; and that I was 
apprenticed to a carpenter, by trade. 

When he heard this, he held out his hand, a smile illum- 
inating his austere visage. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


83 


Take that, boy,” said he. “ If you are an apprentice, 
I am a master ; and here are two lads, about your age, who 
live with me, to learn their trade. If you have nothing 
better to do, come and sup with me to-night — you shall be 
made welcome.” 

I shook hands with him, and accepted his kind offer. 
The French, at the dawn of the Ee volution, were a nation 
of brothers. 

As the clock struck fi'^e, we threw down our tools, gave 
ourselves a wash in the Seine ; after which we crossed over 
to the other side of the river, and entered the Eue St. 
Honor^. 

The master and I had walked side by side all the way, 
the two apprentices following behind. 

He asked me some questions about our department, what 
political opinions we had, and whether I knew any one in 
Paris. 

I answered all his questions with becoming modesty. 

My companion stopped at the commencement of the Eue 
St. Honore, on the left-hand side, opposite a church, which 
I discovered later on to be the Church of Assumption. 

^‘We have arrived,” said he; “I will go first, to show 
you the way.” 

He passed down a passage, at the extremity of which I 
perceived a light. 

I involuntarily raised my head, and read on the fa 9 ade 
of the house these three words : 

Duplat. Master Carpenter.” 

I entered — the apprentices followed me. 


CHAPTEE XIV. 

MY NEW PARISIAN FRIENDS. 

The carpenter, Duplay, in contact with whom fortune had 
brought me, had, at that period — that is to say, on the 12th 
of July, 1790, — the celebrity of having given shelter to a 


84 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


notorious revolutionist, which celebrity afterwards was at- 
tached to his name, his family, and his house. 

He was a good patriot, and attended constantly at the 
Jacobin Club which was held in the neighborhood, and 
where almost all his evenings were passed, applauding the 
speeches of a little advocate of Arras, who, though ridiculed 
in the National Assembly, was appreciated in the Eue St. 
Honore. The name of this little advocate was Kobespierre. 

When we arrived, we found the table laid for supper, 
through the forethought of his two daughters, Estelle and 
Cornelie. Their old grandmother was seated in an arm- 
chair, and Madame Duplay was in the kitchen, devoting all 
her attention to the forthcoming meal. 

I was introduced to the two young ladies, both very 
charming girls. Estelle was a blonde, with beautiful blue 
eyes, and a figure wonderfully symmetrical, and flexible as 
a reed. 

Cornelie was a brunette, with eyes black as sloes, and a 
stately and majestic contour. 

Estelle dropped her eyes, as she curtseyed. 

Cornelie smiled, and looked me full in the face. 

Neither, however, paid much attention to me after the 
first salutation. I was younger than the youngest of them 
—that is to say, in their eyes, almost a child. 

As to the apprentices, one appeared to be about eighteen, 
and the other a month or two older than I. 

The elder was called Jacques Dinant. I don’t know 
w’hat has since become of him. The other was Eelicien 
Herda, afterwards a celebrity in the Devolution. 

This latter was a young man — fair, of a light complexion 
—a regular child of Paris — irritable, and as nervous as a 
woman. The nickname which his comrades gave him, as 
his irritability was always dragging him into controversy, 
and as he used always to say “ No ” to every theory, was 

Citizen Veto.” 

Need I say that the veto was the prerogative of the King, 
and that it was through his wrong use of this privilege on 
two occasions that he alienated his people. 

Madame Duplay appeared from the kitchen, with the 
first course. I was presented to her ; but she paid even 
less attention to me than her two daughters had done. 

She was about thirty-eight or forty years of age, and 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


85 


must, at one time, have been beautiful, but with those 
coarse and too matured charms common to the lower orders 
of the people. 

She shared all the patriotic opinions of her husband, and 
was, like him, an ardent admirer of Robespierre. 

There was a discussion during supper concerning the 
relative merits of the Jacobin leaders, in which the appren- 
tices took part as equals of their master. 

I fancied, somehow, that Felicien Herda regarded me 
with an evil eye. As the stranger, I had the seat of honor 
next to Mademoiselle Cornelie; and I think he must have 
looked upon it as an encroachment on his privileges. 

Although well read in antiquity, I was profoundly igno- 
rant of modern politics, and this gained me the pity of 
M. Duplay. 

I knew the name of the famous Club of Jacobins, where 
Monsieur passed his patriotic evenings, but of all else I was 
ignorant. 

From that bed of aristocratic J acobins of ^89, one could 
not foretell the springing up of the terrible and popular 
Jacobins of ’93. 

Robespierre alone appeared, but he began to assume that 
pale and”impassible visage which was never forgotten, if 
once seen. 

Duplay promised to take me to the J acobins, and to show 
me him who was known among them by the title of an 

honest man.” 

Robespierre had, as yet, but on two occasions spoken ; 
and he had obtained the name of the “ Timon of public 
affairs.” 

I know not if it was the view of Robespierre, whom 
I saw that night for the first time, that engraved the words 
on my mind, but I know this — that; in sixty years, I have 
not forgotten one word of his biography, or one lineament 
of his face. 

I feel that I could draw his portrait now, as life-like as 
when he appeared first to me, on the platform, preparing to 
address us ; and, from that time to the end, I was his most 
devoted admirer. 

Robespierre was born in 1758, in that old, sombre, eccles- 
iastical and judicial town of Arras, capital of Artois, a pro- 
vince of France only 150 years, and where may yet be seen 
the ruins of the immense palace of its King-Bishop. 


86 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


His father, an advocate of the council of the province, 
lived in Eue de Kapporteur. The young Maximilian was 
born there, that name being given him in honor of the last 
conqueror of the city. 

Notwithstanding his hard work, the advocate was poor ; 
but a wife, older than himself, helped to alleviate their pov- 
erty. She died. He thought the burden too heavy to bear 
alone, so, one morning, he decamped, and was no more seen 
in Arras. 

They spoke of suicide, but nothing was proved. 

The house was shut up, the four children abandoned. The 
eldest, Maximilian, was eleven ; after him, came his brother, 
whom they called “ 3^oung Robespierre ; ” after him, two 
sisters, one of whom, called Charlotte de Robespierre, has 
left some rare and curious memoirs. The other sister died 
three or four years after the disappearance of her father. 

What with the death of his mother, and the absence of 
his father, there was enough to render the boj' serious and 
unhappy. The friends who assisted the family asked the 
powerful Abbe of St. Vaast, who possessed a third of the 
town, and who had the disposal of many bursarships at the 
college of Louis-le-Grand, to give one to young Maximil- 
ian. The charitable Abbe complied with their desire. 

He started alone for Paris, with a letter of recommend- 
ation to a prebendary, who died almost at the same time as 
the 3’^oung bursar entered the college. 

It was in that ancient building that the young pupil 
grew pale, sickly, and envenomed, like a flower deprived 
of the sun ; away from home, away from his friends, sepa- 
rated from all who loved him, and from all who could have 
brought a glow to his cheeks, or imparted happiness to his 
withered soul. 

It was there that he met Camille Desmoulins, an ecclesi- 
astical bursar like himself, and Danton, a paying pupil. 

The sole friendship of his boyhood was formed with 
these two. How lightly that friendship weighed in the 
balance we know, when he believed that the moment had 
come to sacrifice it on the shrine of his country. 

Two things militated against the firm continuance of 
this friendship ; the one, the gaiety of Camille Desmou- 
lins ; and the other, the immorality of Danton, who paid 
no attention to the reproaches of his fellow-student. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


87 


Kobespierre paid for his bnrsarship with laurel crowns. 
He left with the reputation of being a sound scholar — a 
reputation which gained him few friends and little honor. 
He afterwards studied with a procureur, entitled himself 
to practise, and returned to Arras a middling lawyer, but 
a stern politician, and having learnt to smile with the lips 
while the heart was filled with gall. 

His younger brother took his place at college, while 
Maximilian, through the kindness of the Abbd de St. 
Vaast, was nominated a member of the criminal tribunal. 

One of the first cases that he had to judge was that of 
an assassin. The crime was not only patent, but avowed. 
It fell to Robespierre to pronounce sentence of death. 

The next day he sent in his resignation, not wishing to 
be put to a like test again. 

That is how it was that he became an advocate. His 
philanthropy made him the defender, in place of the con- 
demner of men. Duplay pretended to know, from certain 
sources, that Robespierre had never undertaken to defend a 
cause that was not just ; but even were it just, he had to 
uphold it against all. He examined the cause of the peas- 
ants who brought a complaint against the Bishop of Arras, 
found it just, pleaded against his benefactor, and gained the 
day. 

This rectitude, although it had no material influence on 
his fortunes, increased greatly’- his reputation. The province 
sent him to the Etats G-en^raux, where he had for his 
adversaries all the nobility and clergy of his native State. 

For adversaries — we say too much. The priest and 
nobles thought too little of him to regard him in such a 
light. 

This contempt, which had followed Maximilian to college, 
pursued him with greater violence now that he had attained 
a seat in the National Assembly. 

He was poor and they knew it. They ridiculed his 
poverty ; he thought it an honor. Having nothing, receiv- 
ing nothing, but his salary as a member of the Assembly, 
a third of which went to his sister, he still lived. When 
the Assembly put on mourning for the death of Franklin, 
Robespierre, too poor to purchase a suit of black, borrowed 
a coat for four francs, which, being too long or him, excited, 
throughout the time of mourning, the irrepressible mirth of 


88 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


the Assembly. The only consolation left him among all 
this ridicule was, that no one doubted his honesty. 

Had I not confidence,” said he, in one of his speeches, 
I should be one of the most wretched men in the world.” 

Yet, notwithstanding this, the man was not popular. 
Some few, indeed, through a species of instinct, saw that 
he was capable of great things, and among these were 
Duplay, his wife, and his two daughters. 

All these details were given me during supper with the 
persistence of conviction. It was, therefore, with the live- 
liest satisfaction that I hailed M. Duplay’s offer to take me 
to the Jacobins’ Club, and looked forward with curiosity to 
see him whom they called honest, and afterwards stamped 
incorruptible. 


CHAPTER XV. 

I GO TO THE jacobins’ CLUB. 

At nin^ o’clock, we left the house, and walked up the 
Rue St. Honord towards the Palais Royal.’ 

A current of people pointed the way, stopping at the 
little door of the Jacobin convent, which exists to this day. 

I knew not that this was the place where the aristocratic 
and literary assembly held their meetings until told so by 
Duplay. 

The entry was as difficult as that of a sanctuary. By 
special favor, as chief carpenter to the Duke of Orleans, 
Duplay had a card of admission. 

At the door, Cornelie, Estelle, and the two apprentices 
left us, plunging down a staircase veritably built in the 
thickness of the wall. 

I asked M. Duplay where they were going. He told me 
that there was, under the church, a smaller hall — a sort of 
crypt — where the workmen and their wives held a club — 
the workmen attending in the day, their wives at night. 
They there explained to each other the constitution. 

Two ushers kept guard on each side of the door. 

One, small and fat, with a bass voice, was the famous 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 89 

singer, Lais, whom the habitues of the Opera applauded 
up to 1825. 

The other, a handsome young man with wavy hair, 
undisfigured by powder, and a generally aristocratic air, 
was a pupil of Madame de Genlis, the son of the Duke of 
Orleans, the Duke of Chartres, the conqueror of Jemappes, 
and the future King of Trance. 

By his side was his young brother, the Duke of Mont- 
pensier, for whom, with great trouble, he had obtained 
admittance, notwithstanding his extreme youth. 

On entering, at sight of the orator, who occupied the 
tribune, I cried out, “ Ah ! there is M. Bobespierre.’’ 

In fact, after the portrait M. Duplay had given me, it 
was impossible not to recognize him. The impression he 
produced upon me was profound. 

Yes, it was he, although his face had not yet assumed 
the grim and fantastic appearance that it did later on. 
There he was, with that primly-brushed olive-colored coat, 
and that waistcoat of snowy whiteness, with his hair pow- 
dered, and thrown back from his brow, the skin of which, 
in its hideous wrinkles, reminded one of the parchment on 
a death’s head. 

It was that wrinkled face, sullen and acute; that eye, 
with its tawny yellow pupil, which shot between its 
retracted lids a glance replete with malice, that seemed to 
wound aught it fell upon ; it was that mouth, broad and 
stern, with its compressed lips ; it was that voice, harsh in 
all its notes, and resembling the laugh of a hyena, or the 
scream of a jackal ; it was the whole figure of the man, 
quivering with a nervous spasm, which caused his fingers 
to be continually drumming on the ledge of the rostrum, 
like a pianist on the keys of a spinnet ; it was, in short, 
the revolution incarnate with his implacable good faith, his 
freshness of blood, his mind determined, bloodthirsty, and 
cruel. 

As we entered, he finished his speech, and descended 
amid shouts of applause. 

I followed him with my eyes, in spite of myself, into the 
midst of the crowd, through which, small and thin as he 
was, he easily passed. Not a hand but was stretched out to 
grasp his, not a voice that did not address him. One man, 
dressed in black, stopped him, as he passed the desk, and 


90 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


said one word to him. He started, his face expressed 
hatred and disgust, and he passed on without replying. 

‘‘ Who was that sombre-looking man who spoke to 
M. de Kobespierre ? ’’ said I, to M. Duplay. 

He smiled. 

It is a customer of mine, to whose intervention with 
the Duke of Orleans I owe the right of coming here. His 
name is M. de Laclos, and he has written a very bad 
book.’’ 

What book ? ” asked 1. 

‘ Les Liaisons Dangereuses.’ ” 

‘‘Well, what then ? Speak lower.” 

“ He is the man of the Duke of Orleans ; he it was who, 
in the Cour des Fontaines, under the shadow of the Palais 
Royal, published Le Journal des Amis de la Constitution. 
Robespierre hates him on account of his fame, but he is all- 
powerful here. It is he who disposes of the purse of the 
Prince. Hush ! M. de Sillery, the husband of Madame 
de Genlis, is listening to us.” 

All this was Hebrew to me. I asked who M. de Sillery 
and Madame de Genlis were. 

“ Ah ! of course,” said he ; “I forgot that you had only 
just arrived in Paris, from the depths of some impenetrable 
forest, and of course know not the names of those who are 
around us.” 

“ I fancy that I know the name of M. de Sillery. If I 
do not deceive myself, he has been sent by the nobility of 
Champagne.” 

“ Good, my boy, good ! ” 

“But it is the man,” continued I, “ that I do not know.” 

“Well, I will tell j’ou all about the man. We begin to 
know names, as well as men. Charles Alexis Brulart is a 
marquis, like Lafayette, but having, like him, renounced 
his title, on the night of the 4th of August, he calls him- 
self Sillery, as I call myself Duplay. As to his courage, it 
cannot be doubted. At twenty years of age, he assisted in 
the campaign of the Indies, and gained his rank at the 
point of the sword.” 

“ What rank did he gain ? ” asked 1. 

“ Captain in the navy.” 

“ But he wears the uniform of a colonel of grenadiers.” 

“ Yes. He has left the navy for the army ; he is the ac- 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


91 


credited agent of the Duke of Orleans. In his youth, he 
was called Comte de Genlis ; that, as I have told you, is the 
name of his wife. She has acquired a double, and doubt- 
ful, celebrity, as the friend of the Duke of Orleans, whose 
children she has educated, and as a writer, in which occu- 
pation she is at present engaged.” 

But what does M. de Sillery say to all this ? ” asked I. 

Duplay lifted his brows. 

^‘No wonder M. Robespierre is not his friend !” 

One cannot be friendly with Robespierre and the Duke 
of Orleans at the same time,” said Duplay, shaking his 
head. “ But patience ! ” All eyes are turned towards a 
man who enters. One felt, at first sight, without knowing 
him, that he was some great personage. 

An immense forest of hair ; a head resembling, for size 
and marked outline, a lion’s or a bull’s, indicated a ruler of 
the multitude. I had not time to ask Duplay who he was, 
for every mouth murmured the word ‘‘ Mirabeau ! — Mira- 
beau ! ” 

Ah ! ” cried Duplay ; there is the hurricane that 
brings us news. Draw near to him, that you may say, 
when you return home, that you have not only seen and 
heard Mirabeau, but that you have touched him.” 

We approached ; but, of a truth, it was necessary to 
approach in order to hear. 

All the audience collected round him. 

I looked for M. de Robespierre, to see if he pressed round 
like the others. 

He was isolated, alone, leaning against the rostrum, 
with a disdainful air, watching the men following the idol 
of popularity, like a shower of leaves after an autumn 
storm. 

He knew that the crowd never drew near him, incorrup- 
tible ; but it rushed after Mirabeau, the corrupted ; and, at 
the same time, he both envied and blamed him. 

The debate of the National Assembly had been stormy. 
There were a few nobles there, who witnessed, with pro- 
found grief, that union of all the parties of France. 

Mirabeau had been insulted in the rostrum. A gentleman, 
M. Dambly, had threatened him with his walking-stick. 
Mirabeau stopped his speech, drew his tablets from his pocket, 
and demanded M. Dambly’s address. 


92 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


He cried it out from one end of the hall to the other. 

Very good ! said Mirabeau ; “ you are the one hundred 
and fiftieth person who has insulted me, and with whom I 
will fight when I have the time. Until your turn has come, 
hold your peace. I ask the President to make you pass 
your word to that effect.’^ 

Mirabeau related the story with incredible irony. All 
laughed — all said he was in the right. 

And Lameth ? ” asked several members. 

** Which ? — Alexander or Charles ? 

Charles.’^ 

Oh, that is another matter ! After practising with the 
rapier for two days, he could not decide upon anything ; and, 
at the close of the Assembly, M. de Castrie cried out that 
he was a coward. They went out, and fought, and Lameth 
received a rapier thrust in his arm.” 

“ Is it true that the sword was poisoned ? ” asked one 
voice. 

“ I know not that ; but I do know that they are prepar- 
ing to raze M. de Castrie’s house to the ground.” 

This news was greeted with a shout of laughter. 

At this moment, an eager voice was heard, urging the 
debate. Robespierre was on the forum. 

He began to speak in the midst of the noise. As far as 
I could judge, he spoke for union ; but the noise and ex- 
citement were so great, that it was almost impossible to hear 
what he said. 

But, accustomed to noise and interruptions, Robespierre 
continued, with that indefatigable perseverance, and that 
indomitable stubbornness which made his greatness, and, 
finally, his triumph. 

Robespierre had spoken for ten minutes, and would, pro- 
bably, have eventually succeeded in gaining silence, had 
not all attention been distracted from him by another 
arrival. 

This was one of the heroes of the duel which Mirabeau 
had spoken of — Charles Lameth. He carried his right arm 
in a sling; but, with that exception, looked and walked 
wonderfully well. 

All crowded round him, as they had done round Mira- 
heau, but with a different sentiment. 

Charles Lameth was the friend of all the intelligent 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


93 


young men who composed the majority of the Jacobin 
Club. 

Duplay pointed out to me, successively, Laharpe ; the 
poet, Chenier ; the painter, David ; the tragedian, Talma ; 
Audrien, Ledaine, Larive, Vernet, Chamfort — all men of 
intellect. Then I returned to the rostrum. Completely 
abandoned, Robespierre had descended, after throwing upon 
that gathering of life, hope, and activity, a glance that 
seemed to presage evil to come. 

No one knew that he had ascended the rostrum ; all 
were equally ignorant of his descent. Perhaps I was the 
only one who noticed the look of malignant hatred with 
which he regarded that knot of literary and scientific men, 
who had utterly disregarded — whether wilfully or not — 
himself and his discourse. 

Presently, Duplay took my arm, and led me out of the 
hall. 

“ Return in a year,” he said, “ and your eyes will be 
opened. There will be fewer plumes, fewer epaulets, less 
embroidery, but more men.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 

PARIS BEFORE THE REVOLUTION. 

I WISHED to go to the Rue Grange Bateliere, where 
M. Drouet lived, and where he had appointed a rendezvous 
at the Hotel des Postes ; ” but M. Duplay insisting that 
I should partake of the hospitality of a bed, as I had 
already done of the table, I felt that I could not well refuse. 

It was arranged that I should share Felicien’s room, in 
which they made me up a bed. On the morrow, at day- 
break, I should be at liberty to seek out M. Drouet, after my 
hair had been arranged according to the new fashion. 

As that was an operation w'hich must be performed 
sooner or later, on entering the house I seized upon a pair of 
scissors, handed them to Mademoiselle Cornelie, and asked 
her to perform on me the same feat that Delilah performed 
on Samson — viz., to cut off my flowing locks. 


94 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


The sacrifice was consummated amid the laughter of the 
two girls. 

One person alone did not join in the merriment thus 
provoked, and that person was he whose room I was going 
to share for the night. It was evident to me that he loved 
Cornelie, and was jealous of me — absurd idea j but the first 
stage of jealousy is absurdity. 

The operation was over ; they led me to a mirror to see 
if I were satisfied with the change worked in my personal 
appearance. At the first glance I felt inclined to laugh 
myself ; I was more than clipped — I was almost shorn. 

My ridiculous appearance restored Felicien to good humor 
with Mademoiselle Cornelie ; and, as the servant appeared 
to announce that the room was prepared, he asked me to 
follow him, and he would show the way. 

The first things that I remarked on entering the room 
were a pair of fencing foils, and a couple of masks to pro- 
tect the face. I thought these rather strange ornaments for 
the bed-chamber of an apprenticed carpenter. 

“ Do you know what those are for ? ” asked he with a 
braggart air. 

“ Yes,’’ replied I. 

Can you use them ? ” 

“ bTot particularly well at present ; but another month 
or two in the Salle d’Armes will improve me, I hope.” 

“ To-morrow,” said he, if you like, we will have a 
bout.” 

“ I am not sure whether I shall be able to. I fear that 
M. Drouet will be anxious about me.” 

“ Will you have a bout now ? ” said he. 

Certainlj",” I replied, “ if you wish it ; but we have 
plenty of time before us. I shall not leave Paris without 
returning to thank M. Duplay, and then we shall have a 
better opportunity.” 

These evasive answers made Felicien think that I was 
not particularly anxious to cross foils with him ; so he com- 
menced a recital of his prowess and so, kindly lulled me to 
sleep. 

I awoke, as usual, at daybreak, and slipping quietly out 
of bed, I dressed myself with as little noise as possible, 
so as not to awaken Felicien, and when ready, I left the 
room, and descended into the court. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 95 

All of M. Duplay’s household were asleep, hut the door 
was left open, so that I did not waste an instant. 

The clock of the Church of Assumption sounded the 
half-after four o’clock as I left the house. I was utterly 
incapable of finding my way about Paris, in which I had 
arrived only the evening before ; but the solemnity to be 
observed on the morrow had early drawn crowds abroad, so 
the streets were pretty full notwithstanding the untimely 
hour. 

I asked my nearest route ; they pointed out to me the 
Boulevards. Arrived there, I had only to follow that by 
no means despicable portion of mj’’ body, my nose, and, in 
a very short time, I discovered the Kue Grange Bateliere. 
Ten minutes after, I entered the “ Hotel des Postes,” and 
discovered, to my great joy, that M. Drouet was within. 

I rushed to his chamber, and opened the door gently. 
He was not only awake, but on his feet. 

Ah ! there you are ! ” said he, after having looked at 
me for an instant without having recognised me, on account 
of the disappearance of my hair. “ Where have you been, 
you vagabond ? I have been in a nice state of mind, I can 
assure you. It appears that you have been taken in a trap, 
like a fox, and been compelled to leave your tail behind 
you.” 

But you also have acquiesced in the mode.” 

Yes ; but not with the same enthusiasm as you. You 
have been foolish enough to cross the Pont Neuf, my boy.” 

Not knowing what happened on the Pont Neuf, I could 
not appreciate M. Drouet’s pleasantry. 

I told him all that had happened — from my meeting with 
the carpenter, on the Champ de Mars, to my visit to the 
Jacobin Club. 

“Very good,” said Drouet. “You passed last night 
among the aristocracy — ^you shall pass this among the ca- 
naille.” 

“ Shall we spend the night together ? ” cried I, joyously. 

“ Yes; I will take you to the Cordeliers, where you will 
meet neither dukes, nor princes, nor marquises, but three 
citizens, whom you tell me j'^ou have often thought of — to 
wit, Marat, Danton, and Camille Desmoulins ; in the 
meantime, we will take a stroll round Paris.” 

“ What I wish most to see, M. Drouet, is the Bastille.” 

“ You mean to say, the place where it stood ? ” 


96 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


« Yes.” 

Come along, then ; we will breakfast at the first restau- 
rant we find, and then, hey ! for the Place de la Bastille.” 

M. Drouet knew Paris very well, having been there 
about twenty times. 

We were not long before we arrived at a wall, on which 
was written, in large letters : — 

“ Here was the Bastille.” 

Why did the germs of the Revolution suffocate them- 
selves under those dismal arches? Why, in 1300, did they 
discourse the holy gospel ? Why, during the captivity of * 
King John, did the Provost of Paris, Etienne Marcel, 
making himself a dictator, establish a popular club there, 
equal to that of the eighteenth century ? Why were the 
Cordeliers, especially, of all the minor orders Of St. Francis, 
republican in their tendencies — so much so, that, three 
centuries before Barbeuf and Prudhomme, they had 
dreamt the abolition of the rights of property ? 

The 13th of July was Vesuvius, with its fire-ejecting 
crater, threatening to destroy Naples, and overturn the 
world. 

To-day, all has ended in smoke-^with, perhaps, a few 
cinders as a memorial. 


CHAPTER XVII, 

I ATTEND A MEETING AT THE CORDELIERS. 

We were engulfed, so to speak, M. Drouet and I, in the 
cave of the Cordeliers. 

The hall was deep and broad, and lighted with smoky 
lamps ; a cloud formed by their smoke, and the breath of 
the audience, floated over our heads, and seemed to weigh 
heavily upon our chests. 

There were no cards of admission — any one might come 
who liked ; the consequence was that the hall was crowded 
to excess, and every one ran a chance of suffocation. At 
the end of a minute, by means of vigorous pressure, we man- 
aged to force a passage into the body of the hall. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


97 


At first, 'w e were obliged to keep our eyes shut, on account 
of the smoky atmosphere ; but when we got accustomed to 
it, we could see objects, as it were, through a dense fog. 

I raised myself up on tiptoe, to see the popular man, j^ar 
excellence. All cried out, “ Vive Lafayette ! ” 

We passed the Tuileries, and the door of the clock- tower, 
and gained a bridge. A sort of sympathy drew us to the 
Champ de Mars. 

There was the same amount of bustle as on the day be- 
fore. A hundred thousand workmen were throwing up the 
earth, and forming a valley between two hills. 

The work progressed as if under the wave of an enchant- 
er’s rod. There was no doubt but that all would be ready 
for the morrow, so that in seven days the gigantic under- 
taking would have been completed. The middle of the place 
was entirely clear. Here they erected the altar of the 
country, and in front of the Ecole Militaire, built up seats 
for the King and the Assembly. 

At the end of a wooden bridge thrown over the river, near 
Chaillot, they erected a triumphal arch. 

It was impossible not to become maddened amid this con- 
fusion. We could resist no longer, but seizing the nearest 
implements that lay nearest at hand, we, with a shout of 

Vive la nation ! ” set ourselves to work with the rest. 

At six o’clock we ceased, heated with our exertions. We 
were hungry. It was useless to look for a restaurant. 

At eight o’clock we left the Champ de Mars, and passing 
through the Boulevards des Invalides, and the Eue Plumet, 
we shaped our course to the Cordeliers. 

An immense crowd of people — some fifty or sixty thous- 
and, perhaps — filled the place and the adjacent streets. 

Those who had been unable to find lodgings had 
encamped there, or on the Boulevards. 

Being anxious to see historical localities, I asked M. Drouet 
to take me to the Hotel de Ville. We went up to the 
Rue St. Antoine, M. Drouet showing me the steps on 
which they had slain De Launay, the lantern on which 
they had hung Foulon, and the corner of the quay where 
they had killed Flesselles. 

Everywhere — on the boulevards, in the places, in the 
churches, on the bridges — all was gaiety ; every one was 
shaking hands with everybody j strangers in a moment 
6 


98 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


became old friends. A shout of “ Vive le Koi ! ’’ surround- 
ed you with friends — a shout of Vive la nation ! with 
brothers. 

After dinner, we proceeded to the Jacobin Club. It was 
crowded, like all the rest — if possible, more so. 

Look, look ! ” said M. Jean Baptiste, the moment it 
was possible to see. 

“ Look ! Where ? said I. 

There — on the President’s chair, between two candles I 
Do you see any one ? ” 

Oh, M. Drouet ! ” said I, trembling. 

Well, what do you say ? ” asked he. 

I say that it is not a man whom you point out to me.’^ 
What is he, then ? ” 

A monster ! ” 

Good ! Look at him for some length of time, and you 
will get accustomed to his face, all hideous as it is.” 

That man was M. Danton. 

He rang the bell, and shook with a fury that seemed to 
animate all he did. 

In a moment all was silence. 

His mouth, like the top of a cyclops, opened, and a voice, 
which could have thundered down the noise had it contin- 
ued, pronounced these words, “ It is Marat’s turn to 
speak ! ” 

Let us say a word or two about Marat before we proceed 
any further. 

Marat was born in 1744, at Keuchatel. He was, at the 
period of which I speak, forty-six years of age. His 
mother, nervous and romantic, was ambitious enough to try 
and make her son a second Bousseau. His father, a Prot- 
estant clergyman, well read and hard-working, taught his 
son the elements of science, and all the other branches of 
knowledge that he was acquainted with, so that the young 
man resembled a dictionary full of errors, and without even 
method or form. 

His grandfather nicknamed him Mara — the “ t ” is an 
addition of his father’s, or his own. He had been a teacher 
of languages in England, and understood English pretty 
well. He also dabbled a little in physiology and chemistry, 
but in a slight degree. In ’89 he became veterinary sur- 
geon to the Com>e D’ Artois. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


99 


On the 14th of July, the day of the taking the Bastille, 
he found himself on the Pout JSTeuf, and escaping being 
crushed to death by a detachment of hussars. Marat ordered 
them, in the name of the people, to throw down their arms 
— so he said, at least, but no one believed it. 

Marat was not brave. He hid himself all day for the 
flight. He said that the satellites of Lafayette and He 
Bailly were looking for him, whereas, in fact, they never 
thought of him. In the evening, he crept out like a beast 
of prey ; his eye, yellow as that of an owl, seemed better 
adapted for seeing in the dark than in the daylight. He 
lived, creeping from hiding-place to hiding-place, never see- 
ing the light of day, and writing continually, imparting to 
his compositions all the bitterness and acerbity of his 
forced mode of life. From time to time he would exalt and 
provoke himself to blood. They say that blood was his or- 
dinary drink — that he imbibed it when he was thirsty. 
His physician shook his head, and said, “Marat writes 
red.^^ His friends the journalists lifted him up to laugh at 
him. They called him the divine Marat. The people took 
a leaf out of their book, and called him a god. Let Marat 
do what he liked, the people applauded. Marat did more 
than lead them — he gave them room for amusement. 

Amid the murmur of applause which greeted him — 
applause which had been, in conjunction wdth silence, 
denied to Robespierre the evening before Hanton, opening 
the door of the rostrum, said, “It is Marat’s turn to 
speak ! ” 

Scarcely had the words been pronounced, when Marat 
was seen mounting the steps leading to the rostrum, in 
which he appeared, with a lurid smile on his coarse mouth, 
seeming to embody, at one, and the same time, three dis- 
tinct genera : the man, the frog, and the serpent. 

That Tiling^ dressed in almost rags, with dishevelled 
hair, squinting eyes, broad nose, and hideous appearance, 
was the Friend of the People ! They had concluded by 
giving Marat the name of his journal. 

At last, his hideous head appearing over the ledge of the 
rostrum, radiant with pride, and held, as it were, defiantly 
back to hide a neck covered with ulcers, all cried out, 
“ Speak, Marat, speak ! ” 

“ Yes,” replied Marat, with a deep voice, I am going 

to.” 


100 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


All was hushed, as if by magic. Danton covered his 
face with his hands, and listened with a smile of scorn, 
while a young man placed himself in front of the rostrum, 
his arms crossed over his breast, in the attitude of a glad- 
iator, defying his enemy. 

Look — look ! ’’ said Drouet. 

At whom ? Marat ? I can see him.” 

JSTo, no ! that young man in front of the rostrum.” 

Who is he ? ” 

Camille Desmoulins, the man of the thirteenth of 
July ; the man of the Cafe de Foy ; the man of the green 
cockade ! ” 

Silence ! silence ! ” cried out several voices. 

Marat, hearing a whisper, had turned his evil eyes on 
us. 

We became as still as mice. 

“ Great treason ! ” cried Marat ; “ but that is not won- 
derful — thej’^ would not follow my advice ; and I tell you 
that until the heads of some of the National Assembly 
ornament pikestaffs, things will go wrong. Do as I tell 
you, and the Constitution will be perfect.” 

Why — why — why — don’t you send a mod-mod-model 
to the Assembly ? ” said the young man, in front of the 
rostrum, with a terrible and painful stutter in his speech. 

“ I am framing it,” said Marat, “ while you make love, 
Camille, I think.” 

Dream, you mean ! ” said the same satirical voice, 

“ Silence ! silence ! ” cried the audience. 

Yes ; I am preparing a scheme for our Constitution.” 

Tell — tell it us, great — great legislator ! ” said Camille, 
totally disregarding the cries for silence. 

“ I say that the form of government should be mon- 
archical,” continued Marat ; “ that Monarchy is the 

guiding-star of France, and that the person of the King 
should be sacred, only to be approached through the medium 
of his ministers.” 

“ Ah, aristocrat ! ” cried Camille. 

“ M. Danton,” cried Marat, furiously, “ it is my turn to 
speak, and I demand silence ! ” 

“ Silence ! silence ! ” again cried the crowd. 

Citizen Camille,” said Danton, in a voice as satirical as 
that ot the man whom he reproved, “ I call you to order 1 ” 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 101 

Then ask the speaker,” said the imperturbable Camille, 
** to give us part of his plans for the legislation.” 

Firstly,” cried Marat, I demand that the blasphemer’s 
tongue be cut out ! ” 

Well, cut my to-to-to-tongue out ! I hlas-hlas-hlas- 
pheme ! I say Marat is a fool ! ” 

And, suiting the action to the words, he protruded his 
tongue at Marat, and made a grimace. 

Some of the audience could not avoid laughing. 

Marat was mad with rage. 

“ I again say,” said he, “ in my project for our Constitu- 
tion, that the city is burdened with two hundred thousand 
poor people. I argue the right of the poor to share.” 

“Good!” said Camille. “We are ready; let us plun- 
plun-plunder ! ” 

“Yes, plunder!” cried Marat, rapidly becoming more 
and more excited. “ When one has nothing, he has a right 
to take the superfluities of the rich— rather than starve, he 
has the right to take and devour their palpitating flesh ! 
Let man commit what outrage he likes on his fellow-men — 
it is no worse than a wolf killing a sheep ! ” 

“ Marat has asked for me to be called to order : I ask 
that he may be called to reason.” 

“Why should I have pity on men?” yelled Marat. 
“Firstly, pity is only a folly, acquired in society. In 
nature, neither man nor inferior animals know pity. Does 
Bailly, who tracks me, or Lafayette, who hunts me down, 
or the National Guards, who seek to slay me, know pity ? ” 
“ Who prevents your eating them ? ” said Camille. 

“ No, no ! ” said Marat, sneering at Camille in his turn. 
“ No, I will not eat them ; I will leave Lafayette to the 
women, and will cry unto them, ‘ Make him an Abelard ! ’ 
I will leave Bailly to the people, and will cry unto them, 
* Hang him, as you have hanged Foulon, as you have 
hanged Flesselles ! ’ I will ask for the heads of the 
National Guards — I will ask for the heads of the aristocrats 
— I will ask, not for six hundred heads as I did yesterday, 
hut for nineteen thousand four hundred ! ” 

“ Make it twen-twenty thousand, round numbers ! ” 

The admirers of Maret chafed. Marat’s mouth shut, his 
e3'^es darted fire, bis bead was drawn bac-k ; he looked as if 
he could have swallowed his advertary at one mouthful. 


102 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


The friends of Camille, Ererone, and Danton, the ene- 
mies of Marat, took the part of Camille Desmouslins. 

They would have come to blows, despite Danton’s contin- 
uously ringing the bell for order, and his terrible voice 
sounding far above the din, and crying, '‘Silence! 
silence ! ’’ 

I passed with M. Drouet to the side of Camille Desmou- 
lins, for whom I felt a sympathy as strong as my hatred of 
Marat. The attention of all, however, was now drawn to 
the entrance of a new personage, on whom all eyes were 
fixed. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE FEMALE ELEMENT IN POLITICS. 

This new comer was a woman. 

But a strange one, having a good deal of the masculine 
in her composition — a perfect amazon — one might say a 
virago. 

She wa« habited in a long dress of red stuff, surmounted 
by a cape; she wore a plumed hat, and a large sword at 
her side. 

I touched M. Drouet’s arm. 

“ Oh I ’’ said I ; “ who is that ? 

“ I am no wiser at present than yourself,” said he ; 
“unless it is — yes, it is the famous Theroigne de Meri- 
court.” 

I had once or twice heard the name of the heroine of 
the 5 th and 8 th of October — the impetuous Liegoise, beauti- 
ful, but terrible ; who, at Versailles, with a smile and soft 
voice, had ordered the regiments of Flanders to lay down 
their arms. An unhappy affection — the treason of an 
unfaithful one, had thrust her out from woman’s life. She 
had embraced the cause of the Revolution with transport. 
It was her last love. The unhappy woman was whipped 
by the Ro3"ali8ts in the Garden of the Tuileries, became 
insane, and died in Bicettfe, or Charenton, I forget which, 
after twenty years of agony. 

Hut at present she was young, pretty, proud, if not 
happy. Alas ! her misplaced love had seared her heart. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


103 


Her entrance was great. 

There is the Queen of Sheba! ” cried Camille Desmou- 
lins, stammering more than ever. 

Then, turning to Danton, “ Rise up, Solomon,” said he ; 

and go and receive her Majesty 1 ” 

She stood boldly in front of Danton, put her hands on 
the hilt of her sabre, and said, “ If thou art Solomon, build 
the temple. We have space enough on the site of the 
Bastille, or better on the Field of the Federation. I will 
head the subscription.” 

She took a gold chain from off her neck, and threw it to 
Danton. 

“ I ask to speak,” said a tall, fair man, with a strong 
German accent ; “ to support the proposition of the Citizen 
Theroigne.” 

“ Citizen Anacharsis Clootz will address the meeting,” 
said Danton. Place to the orator of the human race.” 

The Prussian Baron mounted the rostrum. 

Look ! ” said prouet ; there is a republican who has a 
hundred thousand crowns a year, and yet they say that only 
the bootless and stockingless are revolutionists.” 

Yes,” said he, with a soft smile and quiet voice, which 
contrasted with the harshness of the former speaker ; “yes, 
I second the motion of Citizen Theroigne. The temple 
should be built in Paris. Why was Paris built at an equal 
distance between the Pole and the Equator, if not to be the 
centre of attraction for all men ? At Paris will one day 
assemble the Etats Generaux of all the world. You are 
laughing, Camille, you eternal grinner. The day is not so 
distant as you suppose. Oh, that the Tower of London 
may fall as did the Bastille ! Oh, that a second Cromwell 
may rise from insignificance into power, and the tj^rant of a 
day will be seen no more ! When the tricolor of liberty 
floats, not over England and France alone, but over all the 
world, there will then no longer be provinces, soldiers, and 
vessels of war ; here will be a people, and better than that, a 
family. It will then be as easy to go from Paris to Pekin 
as from Bordeaux to Strasbourg ; the shores of the ocean 
will be brought together by a bridge of ships ; and the East 
and the West will embrace on the Champ de la Federation. 
Rome was the queen of nations by force of arms ; Paris will 
be the same by dint of peace. Think not that this is mere 


104 


LOVE AND LIBEETY. 


imagination, oh, my brothers ! No, the more I think OTer 
the matter, the more sure am I that I am right; and the 
more I believe in the possibility of one great and united 
nation. Oh, listen to the voice of reason ; may patriotism 
warm your hearts to build up a temple which will hold 
all the representatives of the human race. Then ten 
thousand men will suffice to represent the universe ! ” 

‘‘ Bravo ! bravo ! ” cried all from all sides. 

There are plenty of heads to chop off here and there, 
said Marat. 

Ye-ye-yes,’^ Stammered Camille Desmoulins ; six 
hundred yes-yes-yesterday, ninteen thousand four hun-hun- 
dred to-day ; and if a to-morrow arrives, there will be fif- 
fif-fifty thousand.’^ 

Anacharsis,^’ cried Danton, “ you err, but on the side 
of a good and generous heart.” 

The terrible man looked at him with a soft smile, and he 
continued : Men will be what they ought to be, when 
one can say, ‘ The world is my country, the w'orld is mine ; ’ 
hut till then, there are more proscriptions, more banish- 
ments, more exiles. Nature is one ; why is not society 
one ? They are divided forces, which strike one another 
when nations are driven against each other by the breath 
of hatred, and, like clouds, they strike and are scattered. 
Tyrants, we wish not that, and the proof is that we demand 
not your death. Kill yourselves, slay each other. Descend, 
0 kings, from your thrones, and we will give you your 
choice Twixt misery and a scaffold. Usurpers of sover- 
eignty ! Balthazars of modern times ! is it possible that 
you see not on your palace walls, amid the glare of your 
thousand lamps, the shouts of your revelries, and the crash 
of your song, the writing, not in fire, but in your people’s 
blood, Mene, Meni ! Tekel Upharsin? Lay down your 
sceptres and your crowns, and head a revolution which 
delivers kings from the grasp of kings, and the people from 
the rivalry of the people.” 

‘‘A-a-amen!” stammered Camille Desmoulins. Ana- 
Anacharsis wishes to carry me away by the hair of my 
head, as the angel did Habakkuk.” 

Long live Camille Desmoulins ! ” said Theroigne, while 
the friends of the true son of Voltaire tendered him their 
hands. ^‘If ever I have love, it shall be for you, I promise 
you. By the bye, you are fond of Sieyes ? ” 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


105 


Yes, truly,” replied Tlieroigne. Between you and 
me, he is the onl}’^ one w'ho gives me the idea of a man.” 

What am I, then ? ” said Danton. 

“ What are you ? ” said Theroigne, scanning him from 
head to foot. ‘‘ You are only a bull.” 

‘‘Well re-re-replied,” said Camille; “that is what I call 
taking the bull by the horns.” 

“ In the meantime,” cried Marat, “ you are losing sight 
of the public safety. I speak to you of a great treason, 
and you will not listen, Lafayette ! ” 

“ Ah, good ! ” said Camille. Go on, Marat ! ” 

“ Lafayette has caused to be made in the Faubourg St. 
Antoine ten thousand snuff-Sboxes, all of w’hich are embel- 
lished with his portrait as General of the National Guard. 
Lafayette aspires to the dictatorship.” ' 

“ Uf tobacco merchants ? ” queried Camille Desmoulins. 

Marat’s j^ellow skin assumed a green tinge, and per- 
spired with rage. 

“ He has some scheme beneath that,” continued he ; “ so 
I pray all good citizens in whose hands these snuff-boxes 
may fall, to destroy them.” 

“ In order to discover the names of his accomplices ? ” 
asked Camille, 

“ There are many of them. I told you that twenty 
thousand pieces of cord would suffice, but bring thirty or 
fortj’^ thousand, and you will not have enough.” 

The applause drowned the voice of Marat, but eventually 
their breath failed them, and they could hear Camille 
Desmoulins, who, like a swimmer wLo had dived, again re- 
mounted to the surface. 

“ Always tragic, friend Ma-Marat — always tragic ! hyper- 
tragic, in fact.” 

“ And these cords,” continued Marat — “ take care, 
Camille Desmoulins, that one of them is not first tried on 
you.” 

“ In that case,” replied the incorrigible railer, “ I ha^s e a 
chance, if they take me, of growing ugly. You haven’t.” 

Here the laughter broke out irresistibly, and as it arose 
from Camille’s side, he may be fairly said to have gained 
the victory. 

Marat descended, furiously shaking his fist. 

“ Return to thy cave, night-bird ! Go back to thy hole, 


106 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


hyena ! Sneak into thy nest, viper ! ” murmured Danton, 
with a look of ineffable disdain. But Danton^s murmurs 
were like thunder ; every one heard them. 

When Marat left, all joined in brotherly communion, his 
presence having alone restrained them hitherto. 

M. Jean Baptiste knew Danton, and went to shake 
hands with him, and to compliment Camille Desmoulins. 

I could not turn my eyes from the face of the ex-advo- 
cate, that terrible blind man whom Providence had given 
to guide the revolution. 

I shall have occasion to speak again of him, and to show 
what sensibility of heart was hidden beneath that rough 
exterior. 

We left the club at midnight, and returned to the 
Hotel des Postes,’’ Rue Grange Bateliere. 

At daybreak on the morrnw we had to be under arms. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE FIELD OF THE FEDERATION. 

I COULD not sleep all night. 

1 had seen so much since my arrival, and had been in 
company with so many great men — Mirabeau, Robespierre, 
Lameth, Laclos, Chemier, Talma, David, Laharpe, Danton, 
Marat, Desmoulins, Anacharsis Clootz, and Herbert — that 
their names continued to ring in my soul like an alarm 
bell. 

And through them all passed the beautiful amazon in 
her red robe ; and that seemed so strange to me, coming as 
I had for the first time from the Forest of Argonne, and 
feeling, as it were, in another world, or else in a state of 
furious delirium. 

I arose at daybreak. Alas ! the morning was dark and 
rainy-looking ; thick black clouds were chasing each other 
over the sky once so pure and brilliant, but now changing 
its opinions, and becoming aristocratic. 

I awoke M. Drouet. I was astonished that any one 
could sleep on the night heralding in such a day. He 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 107 

jumped up and dressed himself. We took our guns, and 
descended. 

We soon joined our friends of St. Menehould and Islettes, 
formed rank, and marched to the Champ de Mars. 

At the door of Sainte Honore, we met the orator of the 
human race, who had passed the night at the Cordeliers. 

He had with him a body of men, Poles, Kussians, Turks, 
Persians, all in their national costumes. He took them to 
the federation of France before he took them to the federa- 
tion of the world. 

We marched by the river’s side, and soon arrived at the 
Champ de Mars. 

A hundred and sixty thousand people were seated on the 
slopes, a hundred and fifty thousand on the plain itself, and 
yet there was sufficient space left to accommodate fifty 
thousand of the National Guard. 

A second amphitheatre in a semi-circle formed in the 
space between Chaillot and Passy accommodated more than 
a hundred thousand people. 

An ach arsis Clootz was right. This looked well for a fed- 
eration of the world. 

We crossed the river by the wooden bridge thrown over it 
at Chaillot, and passing under the Arc de Triomphe, enter- 
ed the Champ de Mars, and arranged ourselves in front of 
the altar of the country. The -honors were for the pro- 
vincial National Guard. 

We were removed only a hundred paces from the raised 
seats destined for the King, the Queen, and the National 
Assembly. 

All in a moment it began to rain. It was now eight 
o’clock, and as the King and Queen were not expected till 
ten, there was plenty of time to get both wet and cold. 
Some of the National Guards began to dance a farandole to 
keep the warmth in them ; the example was contagious, 
the muskets were stacked, and each man choosing a partner 
from among the female spectators, the extraordinary specta- 
cle of two thousand people dancing at one time commenced. 

At half-past ten the cannon announced the arrival of the 
King, and the drum recalled each man to his post. The 
female dancers were re-conducted to their friends, and the 
guard presented arms. 

The carriages of the King, Queen, and other dignitaries 


108 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


of the realm came at a foot pace. They stopped at the 
raised benches ; the King, descending first, gave his hand 
to the Queen, and they took their respective places, accom- 
panied by the Assembly. 

Kow, not only had the day, but the moment arrived. 

Stationed close to the benches, of which we had an 
excellent view, I had . been awaiting with impatience the 
arrival of the King and Queen, of whose personal appear- 
ance I had formed my own ideas, which I am bound to say 
were very far from the truth. 

The King was not sufficiently kingly. The Queen was 
too much a queen. 

While the King was bowing to the people, and seating 
himself in the midst of the cries of “ Vive le Hoi ! M. de 
Talleyrand, the lame bishop, the Mephistopheles to another 
Faust, whose name was Napoleon, proceeded, attended by 
two hundred priests, to the altar of the country. All wore 
tri-colored sashes. 

The regimental bands strike up, but are scarcely heard. 
But forty pieces of cannon, discharged at the same time, 
command silence. 

The taking of the oath followed. 

Three hundred thousand hands are uplifted at one and 
the same time on the Champ de Mars. The rest of France 
was joined in spirit to those who swore in the name of all. 

They had hoped that the King would descend from his 
seat, mount the altar, and there, holding up his hand, 
swear in the sight of all his people. 

They were mistaken. The King swore from his seat, 
placed in the shadow — in fact, almost hidden. The idea 
that struck the hearts of all, was that the King swore with 
regret, and without intending to keep the oath that he had 
taken. 

This was the oath that all knew beforehand, but which 
few could hear, thanks to the fashion in which the King 
spoke : — 

“ I, King of the French, swear to the nation to employ 
all the power which has been delegated to me by constitu- 
tional law, in maintaining the constitution and executing 
the laws.” 

Ah, King, King! it is with greater heart and better 
faith that your people have sworn. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


109 


The Queen did not swear; she sat in a reserved seat, 
with the Dauphin and the princesses. On hearing the 
King’s voice trembling and hesitating she smiled, a singu- 
lar light gleaming in her eyes the while. 

M. Drouet, as well as myself, remarked that smile, and 
he frowned. 

“ Ah, M. Drouet,” said I, I like not that smile ! And 
I never could have believed that tkat beautiful Queen could 
have smiled in such a fashion. 

The Queen’s smile matters little,” replied M. Drouet. 

The King has sworn — that is the great point. The oath 
is registered at this moment in the hearts of twenty-five 
millions of Frenchmen. It will be worse for him if the 
oath be not kept.” 

******* 

Every time that I have been to Paris since that day, I 
have paid a visit to the Champ de Mars, the only monument 
left of the Revolution. 

The last time I made the pilgrimage was in 1853. I had 
come to buy the History of the French Revolution, by 
Michelet. 

I seated myself on a hillock, and much in the same way 
as M. Chateaubriand on the ruins of Sparta, cried out in a 
loud voice, three times, “ Leonidas ! Leonidas ! Leonidas ! ” 
I read aloud the following lines of the eloquent historian, 
which chimed in so well with my own thoughts : — 

The Champ de Mars is the sole monument left of the 
Revolution. The Empire has the Arc de Triomphe. Roy- 
alty has its Louvre and its Invalides. The feudal Church 
of 1,200 has its throne in Kotre Dame. 

‘‘ But the Revolution has alone for its monument an 
empty space. 

“ This monument is sand, and desert as the plains of 
Arabia. A mound to the right, a mound to the left, like 
those which the Gauls erected in memory of their fallen 
heroes. 

Though the plain be dry, and the grass be withered, 
still a day will come when it shall be again clothed in 
green. 

“ For mingled with this earth is the sweat of the brow of 
those who on a sacred day raised these hills — on a day 


no 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


when, awakened by the cannon of the Bastille, France pour- 
ed in from the north and south — on a day when three mil- 
lions as one man swore eternal peace. 

Ah ! poor Bevolution, so confiding in the first blush of 
thy youth, thou hast invited the world to love and peace. 

“ Oh, my enemies ! said’st thou, there are no longer ene- 
mies. 

“ Thou heldest out thine hand to all — thou hast offered 
the cup to drink to the peace of nations, but they would 
not.” 


CHAPTEE XX. 

I GO BACK AGAIN. 

We arranged to leave Paris on the following morning. 

It was three hours after noontide when the ceremony was 
over. I made a rendezvous with M. Drouet for five o’clock 
at the “ Hotel des Postes,” and left him to give my thanks 
and bid adieu to Maitre Duplay and his family. 

All the household had been to the fete of the federation. 

I met the group, consisting of M. and Madame Duplay, 
the two daughters, and the two apprentices, at the top of 
the Eue St. Honors. 

I went up to and saluted them. 

They, too, had remarked the hesitation with which the 
King took the oath, and were, in consequence, sorrowful. 

We entered the house; the dinner awaited us ; Duplay 
invited me to join them ; I assented. 

During the meal, Eelicien, sure of his superiority over 
me as a fencer, spoke of the promise I had made to try a 
bout with him ; and asked me, if, after dinner, I was pre- 
pared to stand by our agreement, and give M. Duplay and 
his daughters, the pleasure of witnessing our prowess. I 
replied that if it would please my worthy hosts, I should 
only be too happy to make such a slight return for their 
kindness and hospitality towards me. 

Dinner finished, we passed into the workshop, Eelicien 
evidently expecting an easy victory over me, and speaking 
much as a master would to a pupil. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. Ill 

M. Duplay and the young ladies being seated, we each 
took our mask and foil. 

“Be easy,” said Belici^n, in a whisper intended to he 
heard ; “ I will not hurt you.” 

“ Thanks ! ” replied I ; “ for I shall probably be at your 
mercy.” 

“ Would 3^ou like to begin ? ” asked B^lici^n. 

“ As you please,” said I. 

We placed ourselves on guard. 

At the first pass, I saw that Belicien tried to touch mo ; 
which, between strangers, lacks courtesy. 

However, I appeared not to notice it, and contented my- 
self by parrying his thrust. 

How came my turn. 

I made four or five passes only ; but they were sufficient 
to show me that, though E^licien was a tolerable fencer, he 
had no chance with me. 

I had paid great attention to the instructions given me, 
as I wished to make rapid progress ; while Bertrand being 
an able master, and I his sole scholar, he was enabled to 
devote all his attention to me. 

Felicien, also, after the first few passes, perceived my 
superiority over him. 

I allowed him to make five or six thrusts at me, simply 
contenting myself with parrying them. 

Once he grazed the wristband of my shirt, but he did 
not dare say “ Touched ! ” 

I saw the blood mount to his face. 

My dear Felicien,” said I, “ I have been three hours 
under arms, and am fatigued. If you will allow me, I 
should like to put an end to our combat. The ladies, I am 
sure, will accept my excuse.” 

“ They may, but I will not,” said he. “ I know full 
well, by the strength of your parries, that your arm is not, 
fatigued. Say that you believe yourself to be a better 
fencer than I am, and that you are generous enough not to 
pursue your advantage.” 

“ Then you wish to continue ? ” 

“ Certainly. If you are the better man, I will take the 
lesson, as an obedient scholar should.” 

“ You hear the promise that M. Felicien makes,” said I, 
turning to M. Duplay ; “ and you are witness that I con- 
tinue solely on that agreement ? ” 


112 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


“Yes, yes!” cried all the spectators, especially the two 
girls, who seemed to me to wish the pride of the apprentice 
lowered. 

I saluted Felicia n with my foil. 

“ I await you,” said I ; “ take care of my ripostas, which 
are very rapidly delivered.” 

“We will see,” said Felicien, dealing me a thrust which I 
had only just time to parry. 

But, at last, I touched, almost imperceptibly, his breast 
with the button of my foil. 

He bounded backwards ; and while neither of us cried 
“ Touched 7 ” yet all the spectators saw that it was so- 

He again rushed on me, his teeth set, his lips pale. 

He crossed my foil, and passed one, two. But in retreat, 
his foil caught my guard, and snapped off, about two 
inches from the button. 

But he continued to fight, as if he knew not that his 
weapon was broken. So I took the first opportunity that 
offered; and, twisting his blade out of his hand, sent it 
flying across the room. 

“ Pardon me,” said I, “ for disarming you ; I know that 
it is not etiquette ; but neither is it etiquette to fence with 
a buttonless foil. You might have dangerously wounded 
me, and been unhappy yourself ever afterwards.” 

Then, taking off my mask, I hung it on the wall, and 
placed my foil bj'’ the side of it. 

Felicien saw plainly that I did not wish to continue the 
combat ; and, without taking off his mask, he stalked out 
of the room. 

“ Ah ! ” cried M. Duplay ; “ you have read him a good 
lesson, and I must say that he deserved it. Now then, say 
good-bye to the ladies, and let us be off to the Kue Grange 
Bateliere, where you will introduce me to M. Drouet. I 
need not tell you that if I hear of your coming to Paris 
without paying me a visit, I shall be your bitter enemy 
for life.” 

I bade the two girls good-bye, and we set out. 

As I expected, F41ici4n was awaiting us in the court. 

The moment he saw me come out with M. Duplay, who 
evidently only came with me to prevent a quarrel, Felicien 
began to divest himself of his upper garments; but 
M. Duplay cried out, “ Come here, you young vagabond ! — 
I tell you, come here ! ” 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


113 


F^licien approached unwillingly. 

“ Give your hand to my young friend here — he has a 
right to it.’’ 

“ Has what ? ” asked Felicien. 

Nothing,” I hastened to reply. ** M. Duplay believes 
that you knew your foil to be unbuttoned, but I have told 
him ‘ no ! ’ Come ; shake hands, and be friends.” 

I held out my hand. 

Felicien took it with rather a bad grace. 

There,” said M. Duplay ; ^^you have said adieu ! We 
go our way — ^you can go yours.” 

And he dismissed him with a wave of his hand. 

We went our way. 

You see, I was right in coming out with you,” said 
M. Duplay. The little scoundrel was waiting there to pick 
a quarrel with you. He would not be a bad carpenter if 
he would work, but he thinks the trade beneath him. He 
loves, and is jealous of Cornelie. One can easily see that, 
but he is eighteen months younger than she. I don’t think 
that Cornelie is very fond of him ; but you have given a 
lesson to M. Veto, and you have done well.” 

I did not reply, as I agreed in every respect with 
M. Duplay. 

As the clock struck five, we arrived at the Bue Grange 
Bateliere. We found M. Drouet punctual. I introduced 
M. Duplay, whom he already knew through my speaking 
of him. 

We spent the evening fraternising with the Parisians. 

We each of us received a medal in commemoration of 
the occasion. 

At five o’clock in the morning, the drum beat the recall. 
We formed ranks, and set out for the Barrier Pantin. 
Meaux w^as fixed upon as our first halting-place. 

Four days after our departure from Paris, we arrived at 
Menehould about three hours after mid-day. We had, on 
an average, marched about twelve leagues a day. 

M. Drouet wished me to dine with him, but I knew that 
my uncle would be uneasy if I returned not with the 
others ; and, somehow or other, I had a presentiment that I 
must hasten, if I wished to see him alive. 

I was a quick walker. I ran down the slope of the 
mountain, and traversed the village at a quick trot. 

7 


114 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


On passing the priest’s house, I saw Mademoiselle 
Marguerite in the doorway. When she saw me, she came 
forward. 

I feared what she was going to ask ; so I at once said, 
** M. le Cure is in capital* health, and will he here in an 
hour. What news of my uncle ? ” 

Good, my dear Eene — good ; but you have mentioned 
to him your arrival ? ” 

No, I have not. Why should I ? ” 

Well, he told me that* you would arrive at half-past 
seven this evening ; and he said, ‘ Thank heaven, I shall 
be able to see and bless him before I die ! ” 

“ He said that? Well, I must hurry on, for I have no 
time to lose.” 

On leaving the village, and turning the first angle of the 
forest, one could see the cottage of Father Descharmes. 

I turned the corner in a moment. 

Father Descharmes was at the door, seated in his arm- 
chair, in the same place I had left him, enjoying the rays 
of the setting sun. 

I waved my hat on the end of my musket. I thought 
that he feebly waved his hand in return. 

I ran quicker than ever j and the nearer I came the more 
his face brightened up. 

When I was not more than ten paces distant, he lifted 
himself from the chair, and, raising his eyes to heaven, he 
said “ I knew well that I should see my child again. * Now 
let Thy servant depart in peace, according to Thy word.’ ” 

I heard these words, and threw myself on my knees. 
Bless me, oh, my uncle ! ” I cried. 

My voice was choked with sobs, for I saw that I had 
arrived just in time to receive his last breath. 

I felt the old man’s hands placed upon my forehead, and 
I fancied that I heard his voice murmuring feebly a 
prayer. 

When the prayer was finished, he cried, Oh, heaven, 
receive my spirit ! ” 

I felt his hand slowly slipping from my brow. 

I stayed a moment immovable, and then, taking his 
hands in mine, I raised myself gentlj’^, and looked at him. 

He had fallen backwards, his head resting on his breast, 
and his eyes and mouth open. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


115 


But the mouth no longer had breath, and the light had 
departed from the eyes. 

He was dead ! 


CHAPTER XXL 

I EXCHANGE MY GUN FOR THE PLANE. 

I WILL not exaggerate my grief ; I will simply say that 
I loved my uncle as a father, and my sorrow for his loss was 
full and sincere. 

In my absence, the two keepers — the one named Flobert, 
and the other, Lafeuille — had taken it in turns to minister 
to his little wants. 

When he died, Flobert was in the house. 1 called, and 
he came to me. 

The name of Drouet filled my heart, and rested on my 
lips. 

At that moment a postchaise passed, going in the direc- 
tion of St. Menehould. I ran after the postilion, my eyes 
filled with tears. 

“ Tell M. Jean Baptiste,” cried I to him, “ that my un- 
cle died at the moment of my arrival.” 

Is it possible ? Poor Descharmes ! I spoke to him 
yesterday ! He was seated in his easy-chair, in the door- 
way, and he told me that he expected you this evening.” 

He then drove on. 

Y ou will not forget to tell M. Drouet, will you ? ” I re- 
peated. 

“ Certainly not. Do not be afraid, M. E^n4 ; I shall not 
forget it.” 

I had such confidence in M. Drouet, that I did not think 
it necessary to ask him to come. I had only to tell him my 
sorrow, and I knew that he would come. 

As I expected, two hours after, I heard the gallop of a 
horse. I rushed to the door, and M. Drouet was there. 

He had met M. Fortin as he was coming in the same car- 
riage which had taken him to the Federation. He had 
pressed on his steed j he had seen Marguerite in passing ; 


116 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


and in all prol)ability the good priest would he there in an 
hour, with his housekeeper, to say the prayers for the dead 
hy the bedside of Father Descharmes. 

M. Drouet wished to lead me away ; hut, smiling, in the 
midst of my tears, What would my poor uncle say of me 
on high,’^ I said, “ if any other hand than mine performed 
the last sad offices for the dead ? ” 

Do you feel yourself strong enough for it ? asked 
M. Drouet. 

Is it not my duty ? ” 

‘^Without doubt. But one cannot always do one^s 
duty.’^ 

‘‘I hope that heaven will always give me strength 
enough to perform mine.” 

Breathe that prayer night and morning, and it will be 
of more benefit than all the prayers printed in the Church 
Service.” 

The burial was to take place at four o’clock in the Cem- 
etery of Islettes. After it was over, he proposed that I 
should go with him to St. Menehould, to pass the night, 
and in the following morning with a notary, who would ar- 
range the deceased man’s papers &c., &c. 

In the afternoon, at four o’clock, my uncle’s corpse, ac- 
companied by the whole village of Islettes, followed by me, 
his sole relative, and by Drouet, Billard, Guillaume, Mathieu, 
and Bertrand, his friends, was placed in its last resting- 
place, accompanied by the blessings of the Abbe Fortin, 
and all those who knew his upright and irreproachable life. 

The funeral over, M. Drouet put the key of the cottage 
in his own pocket. Then we mounted into M. Drouet’s 
cabriolet, and drove off to to St. Menehould. 

In the evening, M. Drouet went to seek the notary, who 
promised to run over the following day, after breakfast, to 
open the will, and make an inventory. On the morrow, at 
mid-day, in the presence of MM. Fortin, Drouet, Bertrand, 
and Mathieu, the will was opened. 

It appointed me his sole heir, and at the same time indi- 
cated a cupboard in which would be found, in a bag, two 
hundred and sixty louis d’or, which comprised his whole 
fortune. 

It also charged me to give all the little things he had 
collected, and which were of no use to me, to the poor of 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


117 


the village of Islettes ; also to give all the implements of 
the chase, with the exception of those which pleased me, to 
his old friends, Flobert and Lafeuille. 

On no account was anything to be sold. 

As I was under age, M. Drouet, by my uncle’s wish, be- 
came my guardian. 

As a matter of course, I immediately handed over to him 
the two hundred and sixty louis which my uncle had left 
me, telling him to keep them till I came of age. 

All being thus arranged, I placed on a wheelbarrow, 
which Bertrand lent me, all my carpentry tools, my com- 
passes, my plane, and so on. 

Two hours after, I arrived at M. Gerbaut’s. On my 
entrance. I found the whole familj’^ at supper. 

“ M. Gerbaut,” said I, “ you offered me, if at any time 
I desired to work under a master, an apprenticeship — are 
you inclined to stand by your agreement ? ” 

“ Thanks, my boy, for having thought first of me. But 
sit down and eat ; it will be time enough to think of work 
to-morrow.” 

Sit down by my side, my friend,” said Sophie, with a 
sweet smile, holding out her hand. 

She drew her chair a little nearer to her father’s, and I 
accepted the place thus offered. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

MY NEW LIFE UNDER SOPHIE’s FATHER. 

The changes made by death excepted, there is this 
strange and touching peculiarity of country life, that, whilst 
kingdoms are rent, hedgerows, and fields, and rustics, 
apparently remain ever the same. 

Nearly a year had passed since I last set foot in Father 
Gerbaut’s house, and on entering I found everything the 
same as when I had last left it j the covers laid in the same 
places, on the same table, and for the same number of 
persons. Not only were material affairs the same, but the 
affections remained unaltered. Sophie had said, “Come, 


118 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


my brother/’ and I came. She gave me her hand, and 
said, “ Brother, you are welcome ! ” 

And yet a great agitation prevailed over the whole sur- 
face of France ; all the ancient names of the provinces had 
been changed. France was divided into eighty-three 
departments. One part of Champagne had taken the 
names of the Department of the Meuse ; the part neigh- 
boring was now the Department of the Marne. The little 
Biver Biesme, which served as a line of demarcation 
between Germany and France, and, likewise, between 
Champagne and Clermontois, fixed the limit of the two 
departments. Les Islettes, Clermont, and Varennes were 
in the Department of the Meuse. 

Municipalities were constituted under the name of cor- 
porations ; M. Gerbaut was nominated municipal council- 
lor, and our neighbor, M. Sauce, grocer, procureur of the 
corporation. 

I say our neighbor, because the two houses were separated 
only by a lane. 

The two families frequently visited each other. M. Ger- 
baut and M. Sauce, with their blushing honors thick upon 
them, were patriots. 

Madame Sauce was a fine woman, but coarse and vulgar, 
a veritable dealer in candles, butter, and sugar ; rather 
given to serving short measure, but otherwise incapable of 
committing a fraud. The mother of M. Sauce, an old lady 
of sixty-three or sixty-four years, was a Royalist. The 
children, the eldest of whom was only twelve, were incapa- 
ble of having an opinion. 

We shall see presently what Sophie’s opinions were. 

Opposite us was the tavern of the “ Bras d’Or,” belong- 
ing to the brothers Leblanc. Interest made them play a 
little comedy. As they had the patronage both of the 
patriotic young men in the town, and the Royalist young 
nobles from the vicinity, the one brother was a patriot, and 
the other a Royalist. The elder cried Vive la nation ” 
with the young tradesmen, while the younger shouted 
“ Vive le Roi ” with the noblesse. 

In the midst of all this, a national decree was propagated, 
which caused some uneasiness in the province. 

“ It was the civil constitution of the clergy. 

It created an episcopal chair in each department. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


119 


It ordered the election of bishops and priests to be con- 
ducted after the fashion of the primitive church : that is to 
say, that they were to be elected by a majority of votes ; all 
the salaries of the clergy were to be paid from the King’s 
treasury ; perquisites were abolished. 

The clergy were desired to take an oath to maintain that 
constitution ; those who would not, were compelled to resign 
their benefices in favor of those who would. 

If, after being dismissed, they attempted to renew their 
functions, they were prosecuted as disturbers of the public 
peace. 

From this arose the troubles in the Church, and the 
division between the constitutional priests and those who 
refused to take the oath. 

If one looks back on that great epoch, and on the two 
remarkable years of ’89 and ’90, one cannot fail to be 
astonished. Can anj’^ one explain the precautions taken by 
nature, that the men and the events should arrive at the 
same time for that awful result which followed ? 

In 1762, M. de Choiseul suppressed the order of the 
Jesuits ; that is to say, deprived the Church of its wisest 
and most powerful supporters. 

Afterwards, in the years ’68, ’69, and 70, the Revolution 
produced Chateaubriand, Bonaparte, Hoch, Marceau, Jou- 
bert, Cuvier, Saint Martin, Saint Simon, Lesneur, Les 
Cheniers, Geoffrey Saint Hilaire, Bichat, Lainancourt, all 
of whom, in 1792, where in the bloom of life and genius. 

Whence came those births sublime and terrible, pro- 
duced in the space of three or four years ? Whence came 
that burst of genius prepared twenty-four or twenty-five 
years before to second political eruption ? Whence came 
that body of superior men who closed the eighteenth and 
opened the nineteenth century? Whence came that pha- 
lanx more than human, and who raised the hand to 
swear to the constitution before the altar of their country? 

Let us forget the death of Mirabeau, the last upholder of 
the monarchy, whom heaven struck in an unexpected man- 
ner, at the moment he forsook the cause of the people ; and 
who, in dying, counselled the flight of the king — a flight 
which, had it succeeded, would have saved the life of his 
Majesty ; but successful or unsuccessful, must inevitably 
have brought the monarchy to the ground. 


120 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


All knew not the cause of that reason or corruption on 
the part of Miraheau ; whether it was that his aristocratic 
instincts, kept under for a time by his father’s severity, had 
sprung into light on contact with royalty, or not, seemed 
to be doubtful. 

The Queen was a great enchantress. She was a Circe, 
fatal to those who stopped not their ears, to avoid listening 
to the blandishments of her sweet voice. She had the fatal 
gift, which Mary Stuart possessed, of leading all her friends 
to death. 

The end of Miraheau was announced in the provinces 
almost at the same time as his illness, 

It was on the 20th of March that the news of his illness 
was bruited about in Paris. It appeared that on the 27th, 
two days previous, being at his house at Argenteuil, he was 
seized with a violent cholic, accompanied with almost unen- 
durable agony. He sent for his friend and physician, 
the famous Cabanis, and distinctly refused to see any 
other. This was wrong, perhaps ; a hospital surgeon or a 
practised physician might have saved him. 

As soon as the news was received, the crowd pressed to 
the door of the sick man’s house. 

Barnave, his enemy, almost his rival, who would have 
died, slain by the Queen, for an interview like that which 
Miraheau had had with her, came to see him conducting a 
deputation of Jacobins. 

The priest came, and would not be denied. This was 
exactly what Miraheau feared — the influence of priests upon 
his dying volition. 

They refused admission to the sick man’s chamber, saying 
that Miraheau wished only to see his friend M. Talleyrand, 
to whom, he said, he could confess, without any great fear 
of virtuous indignation. 

For some months he had been suffering, he believed, from 
the effects of poison. Administered by whom ? He would 
have been puzzled to tell that himself. All the world, ex- 
cept the parties interested, knew about his interview with 
the Queen at St. Cloud, in the month of May, 1790. 
Whether his malady was natural, or the effects of a crime, 
he took no measures whatever to arrest its progress. 

Vigorous of body, perhaps more vigorous in imagination, 
he had j assed the night of the 15th of March in an orgie, 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


121 


the component parts of which were women and flowers, 
perhaps the sole two things that he loved. He used money 
simply to gratify his tastes in those respects. 

On the morning of the 2nd of April, after a night of 
agony, which inspired the famous prophecy, “ I carry with 
me the mourning of monarchy ; its remains will he the prey 
of factions,” — awakened from the bosom of grief, if one can 
use the term, by a cannon shot, he cried. 

He summoned his valet, was shaved, washed, and per- 
fumed all over his body. After his last toilette was com- 
pleted, opening his window to admit the young April sun, 
which was brightening the first blossoms on the trees, he 
murmured, smiling, “ Oh, sun, if thou art not God himself, 
thou art his cousin german ! ” 

Afterwards, his last insupportable sulfering seized him. 
He could not speak, but snatched a pen, and wrote plainly 
the one word Dormir — “ Sleep.” 

Did he ask for death, like Hamlet, or only for opium to 
soothe his passage from one world into the other ? 

At about half-past eight, he moved, lifted his eyes to 
heaven, and heaved a sigh. It was his last ! 

In the evening, the theatres were closed, as if some great 
national calamity had occurred. 

The mask was taken from that immobile face ; from that 
powerful head vvhich Camille Desmoulins called a magazine 
of ideas exploded by death. His placid brow expressed the 
serenity of his soul, and his face bore no trace of either 
grief or remorse. 

There is no doubt but that Mirabeau, when he promised 
the Queen all his support, fully intended to keep that 
promise, not only as a gentleman but as a citizen. 

The funeral ceremony took place on the 4th of April ; 
four hundred thousand persons followed in the procession. 
Two instruments were heard for the first time on that 
occasion, filling the breasts of the spectators with their vi- 
brating notes : they were the trombone, and the tom-tom. 

At eight in the evening, he was placed in the temporary 
tomb provided for him in the Pantheon. 

We say temporary, because his body remained there only 
three years. 

It was removed at the time when the Convention, having 
slain the Jacobins, and slain itself, having no more living to 
slay, determined to dishonor the dead. 


122 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


It was ordered that the corpse of Honors Riquette de 
Mirabeau, traitor to the people, traitor to his country, and 
sold to royalty, should be removed from the Pantheon. 

The order was executed, and the corpse of Mirabeau was 
thrown into the criminals’ cemetery, at Clamart. 

It is there that he now sleeps the sleep of hope, waiting 
the day when France, an indulgent — nay, let us rather say 
an impartial mother, will give him, not a Pantheon, but a 
tomb j not a temple, but a mausoleum* 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE ARRIVAL OF THE DRAGOONS. 

During the ten months that I stayed with M. Gerbaut, 
my life was monotonous in the extreme. 

As I was an excellent workman, he gave me, as well as 
board and lodging, a salary of thirty francs a month, and 
often gave me to understand that he wished that I were a 
few years older, that he might give me his daughter in 
marriage, and surrender to me his business. But the fact 
W'as, I was a year younger than Sophie. 

But it was not that only which rendered a union impossi- 
ble between us ; it was that invincible sorrow, denoting a 
passion hidden in the depths of her heart. 

My opinion was, that the young man for whom she 
entertained this hidden feeling was the Viscount de Malmy. 

Sophie gave me all that she had promised — sisterly love. 

It was impossible to be kinder or more affectionate to 
me than she was. On Sunday, I invariably took her out 
for a walk, and she never would accept any other arm than 
mine ; but this friendship did not induce her to confide to 
me the cause of the sorrow which I could plainly see was 
preying upon her constitution. 

Sometimes the young nobles came, and, as I have told 
you, put up at the Brothers Leblanc. 

On those days, Sophie always found a pretext for not 
going out with me, taking care that the pretext was plaus- 
ible. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


123 


She shut herself up in her chamber, the window of 
which was exactly opposite the window of the ^^Bras d’Or,” 
and stayed there the whole time that the young nobles 
were at Varennes. 

More than once, under these circumstances, I had half a 
mind to get up in the night, and see if the darkness hid 
any mystery with regard to Sophie and the Viscount, but 
I always had strength enough to resist the temptation. I 
thought to myself I had no right to surprise any of her 
secrets, which, notwithstanding our friendship, she had not 
thought fit to confide in me. 

One night, whilst passing along the corridor, I fancied I 
heard two voices in Sophie’s room ; but instead of stopping 
to listen, I felt ashamed of the action which jealousy 
prompted me to commit, and I determined, noth with stand- 
ing the pangs I suffered, that Sophie should have no reason 
to suppose that I suspected anything. 

My grief, undoubtedly, was great ; but my pity for her 
was greater, and I felt that strong as my anguish was, she 
was preparing for herself an after day of sorrow and re- 
morse. 

From the 1st to the 15th of June, the visits of M. Malmy 
and M. Dampierre were more frequent than usual. 

An instinctive hatred made me keep aloof from M. de 
Malmy ; but the Count, in memory of Father Descharmes, 
never met me without speaking. 

But, for the most part, they did not come as far as the Kue 
de la Basse Cour. M. de Malmy alone, and his friend the 
Viscount de Courtemont, went to the “Brasd’Or;” the 
Count de Haus stayed on the top of the Hill des Eeligieuses 
with one of his friends, an old Chevalier of St. Louis, named 
the Baron de Prefontaine. 

On the 2oth of June, about three o’clock in the afternoon, 
M. Jean Baptiste arrived. 

In the course of the ten months since I had last been at 
Varennes, he had paid two or three visits to his friends Bil- 
laud and Gillaume, and had never failed to come and see 
me, and to invite me to take breakfast with him, as the case 
might be. 

This time he had a more mysterious air than usual ; he 
engaged a private room at the Brothers Leblanc, ordered 
dinner for four, and asked his two friends to come and join 
us immediately at the Bras d’Or.” 


124 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


Tor some time the horizon had been lowering. 

It was evident that there was some counterplot hatching. 

On the 1st of March we had heard of the affair of the 
Gentlemen of the Dagger. 

On the 20th of April, we had heard that the King, in- 
tending to go to St. Cloud, had been stopped by the people, 
and was afraid to leave the Tuileries. 

We knew, vaguely, what was going on in Italy. The 
Count D’ Artois was at Mantua with the Emperor Leopold, 
asking for an invasion of France. The King did not ask 
that invasion ; but D’ Artois knew well that he would be 
glad of it. A year before, everybody saw, from the letter 
from the Count de Provence to M. de Favras, how little 
place the King held in the calculations of his brothers. 

The young King of Sweden, Gustavus, after having been 
the enemy of Catharine, conquered by her, became her 
friend, and at the same time her agent, and was at Aix, in 
Savoy, publicly offering his sword to the King ; while the 
Count de Fersen, an intimate of the Queen’s, was carrying 
on a correspondence with M. de Bouille. 

People said that for the last three months the Queen had 
caused to be made a trousseau for herself and children. 

They said, likewise, that she had caused to be made a 
magnificent travelling outfit, sufficient for at least an ab- 
sence of six months. 

Her friend, M de Fersen, they said, was superintending 
the construction of an English chaise, capable of holding 
from ten to twelve persons. 

All these rumors tended to one end, and caused the two 
last appearances of M. Drouet at Varennes. 

His post-house was situated on one of the short cuts to 
the frontier ; and by the road many nobles had emigrated, 
as if to point out the proper route for the King. 

A new event had taken place, which had appeared to 
M. Drouet of sufficient importance to warrant a consulta- 
tion with his friends. 

This was the event I speak of. 

On the 20th of June, in the morning, a detachment of 
hussars, with brown dolmans (some said that they were a 
part of De Lauzun’s regiment, others that they were a part 
of Esterha^y’s), had entered St. Menehould by the Cler- 
mont road 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


125 


At that time, when the troops were billeted on the 
tradespeople, the authorities were generally informed of 
their arrival two or three days in advance. 

In this case, the authorities had received no advice. 

M. Drouet had spoken to the officer commanding the 
detachment. This officer, whom he remembered to have 
seen two months before passing between St. Menehould, 
Chalons, and Varennes, was called M. Goguelet. 

Recognised by M. Drouet, this officer had no hesitation 
in chatting with him. He said he had been sent with his 
forty men to form an escort for a treasure. 

While M. Jean Baptiste was talking with him, a messen- 
ger arrived from the municipality, asking the reason of his 
coming unannounced and unexpected. 

Don’t trouble yourself about nothing,” replied the 
officer ; “ myself and my men will sleep here j but as we 
set off in a hurry on a particular service, we are utterly 
without rations. We will pay all our expenses, so as not 
to be a burden on the tradespeople. To-morrow, at day- 
break, we start for Pont-de-Somme-Vesles.” 

The messenger took this response to the authorities ; hut 
they, not being satisfied with it, sent him hack with a 
request that M. Gogulet would step up to the Mayor’s 
house. 

He accordingly went there, M. Drouet following. 

When asked the reason of his march, the officer exhib- 
ited an order from M. de Bouille, commanding him to he at 
Pont-de-Somme-Vesles on the 21st of June, to take charge 
of, and escort some treasure which was there, to St. Mene- 
hould, where he was to surrender his trust to Colonel Dan- 
doin, of the First Regiment of Dragoons. 

They then asked where were M. Dandoin’s dragoons. 

He follows me,” he replied ; and will arrive here to- 
morrow morning.” 

The interrogatory was not pushed any farther ; but 
M. Drouet was not satisfied, so he had run over to Varen- 
nes, to inform his companions of the event, and to hold a 
consultation with them. 

Just as he had finished his tale, the younger brother 
Leblanc entered. 

He had come from Stenay. 

“ Do you wish to see some beautiful horses, M. J ean 
Baptiste ? ” asked he. 


126 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


I should like nothing better,” replied Drouet, espe- 
cially if they are for sale, as I want a remount.” 

I don’t think that they are for sale ; but what is aston- 
ishing is that they are harnessed in relays.” 

“ Where are they ? ” 

At the ^ Grand Monarque,’ with Father Gautier.” 

M. Jean Baptiste looked at us. 

“ It is well, Victor,” he said ; I will go there after din- 
ner. Have you any other news ? ” 

^^No ; there is a movement going on among the troops at 
Stenay, hut there is nothing astonishing in that. I should 
not be surprised if we received an announcement of their 
arrival here to-morrow.” 

Nor I,” said Drouet. 

We finished dinner, and entered into the Bue de la Basse 
Cour, crossed the bridge, and arrived at the “ Grand Mon- 
arque,” where we found six horses being carefully attended 
to by the two grooms. 

“ Those are fine horses. Whose are they, my friend ? ” 

My master’s ! ” insolently replied one of the grooms. 

The name of your master is a secret, I suppose ? ” 
queried M. Drouet. 

That depends upon who asks me.” 

M. Guillaume frowned. 

^^This is an insolent scoundrel,” said he, ^^who merits 
being taught how lackeys should speak to men ? ” 

“ Will you teach me ? ” asked the groom. 

Why not ? ” asked Guillaume, going a step nearer to 
him. 

M. Jean Baptiste stopped him by taking hold of his arm. 

“My dear Guillaume,” said he, “don’t put youxself out; 
perhaps this good man is forbidden to speak, and has'come 
like M. Goguelet, for the treasure.” 

“ Do you know M. Goguelet, and why we are here ? ” 

“You are here for the treasure which the hussars are 
bringing from Pont-de-Somme-Vesles, to hand over to the 
dragoons who were awaiting them at St. Menehould.” 

“If you are one of us, monsieur,” said the groom, touch- 
ing his hat, “ I have no reason to refuse telling you to whom 
the horses belong. They are the property of the Duke of 
Choiseul.” 

“You have said well,” said Drouet, laughing; “and we 
were going to quarrel with one of our friends.” 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 127 

If you are a frigpd, monsieur, you might tell me whom 
you are, as I have told you about the horses ? ” 

You are right. I have no motive for concealing my 
name. I am Jean Baptiste Drouet, postmaster at St. Mene- 
hould.” 

“ As you have said, you are probably one of us.” 

At this moment. Father Gautier stepped out from the 
kitchen door. 

M. Drouet thought he had better say no more to the 
groom, for fear of exciting suspicion. 

“Ah, ha! Father Gautier,” said he; “your kitchen 
appears to be in full blow.” 

The fires in fact, were at their highest. 

“ It is 60 , M. Drouet ; but the astonishing part of it is, 
that I do not know for whom the cooking is going on.” 

“ You don^t know for whom ? ” 

“ No. I received on the 14th, an order from the military 
commandant to prepare a dinner for five o’clock, and it is 
now the 24th, and no one has arrived to eat it ; but as it is 
a written command, I am not afraid, for eaten or not, the 
dinners are always paid for.” 

M. Drouet again looked at us. 

“ Perhaps they are some great lords about to emigrate,” 
said M. Jean Baptiste. 

“ And who take away our money,” replied Father Gau- 
tier. 

“ In any case, they will leave you a little of theirs. Six 
or eight dinners, at how much a head ? ” 

“ Three crowns, not including the wine.” 

“And for how many people ? ” 

“ Eight or ten ; the number was not definitely arranged.” 

“ Father Gautier,” said M. Drouet, “ you will yet die 
rich.” 

He then shook hands with him, smiling. 

We left the house, and soon found ourselves in the street. 

“ My friend,” said M. Drouet, “ without doubt, something 
extraordinary is about to take place. I shall return to 
Saint Menehould without losing a moment. Guillaume 
will go with me. When you get home, watch day and 
night. Sleep with one eye open, and hold yourselves in 
readiness for whatever may happen.” 

We returned quickly to the “Bras d’Or;” M. Drouet 


128 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


saddled his horse with his own hands.^ M. Guillaume bor- 
rowed one of the elder of the Leblancs, and they both set 
off for St. Menehould at a sharp trot, recommending us 
both to keep our eyes and ears well open. 


CHAPTER XXIY. 

THE NIGHT OF THE 21ST OF AUGUST, 1791. 

One can easily understand that it was late when we 
sought our respective couches, and that we rose early the 
next morning, having kept one eye open all the time that 
we. slept. 

When T say we, of course I speak of M. Billaud and the 
elder Leblanc, whom M. Drouet had taken into his confi- 
dence. 

About eleven in the morning we heard that a detachment 
of hussars had been seen on the road from Stenay. 

I left my work, giving a few words of explanation to 
M. Gerbaut and Mdlle. Sophie. They partook of the gen- 
eral agitation which pervaded the town, or rather the air 
which seemed tremendous with coming events. 

Mdlle. Sophie was very much excited, especially when I 
announced the approach of the hussars. Two days previ- 
ously, MM. Malmy and Courtemont had arrived at Varen- 
nes. 

I crossed the bridge and entered the Grand Place on one 
side, at the same moment as the hussars entered it at the 
other. 

They stopped a moment on the Place, spoke to the groom, 
who had arrived the evening before with the relays, which, 
by superior orders, they had stabled in the old Convent of 
the Cordeliers. 

They were commanded by a tall officer of effeminate 
appearance, and blonde complexion. He spoke French with 
a very strong German accent. His name was ’M. de Rok- 

rey. 

He put up in the Place, not at an hotel, but with a 
tradesman of the town, to whom he bore a letter of recom- 
mendation. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


129 


Behind me a great number of the inhabitants of the 
High Town were descending and forming themselves iu 
groups with those of the Low Town. 

About one o’clock, two young officers arrived by the 
same route, and stopped to speak with him who commanded 
the detachment. 

One of them approached me, and asked if I knew the 
whearabouts of Neuvilly. 

I told him it was half-way between Clermont and 
Varennes, and pointed out the direction to take. 

Can you tell me, sir,” said he, the cause of the agita- 
tion of the people ? ” 

The movements of the troops about the city for the 
last two days. It is reported that they are to form a con- 
voy for a treasure, and the inhabitants are curious.” 

The two officers looked at each other. 

“ Can one get to Neuvilly,” asked one of the two, with- 
out passing through the town ? ” 

‘^Impossible!” replied I. “A canal of great width in- 
tersects the road; and even if your horses could swim 
across they would not be able to mount the opposite bank.” 

The officer turned round to his friend. 

“ What will you do ? It appears that the relays must 
pass through the town.” 

“We have plenty of time,” replied his friend; “the 
courier will precede the carriage two hours.” 

The two officers thanked me for my information, and pro- 
ceded to the “ Hotel du Grand Monarque,” in the court of 
* which they dismounted, having thrown the bridles of their 
horses to the stable boys in attendance. 

It was evident that the persons expected would arrive 
from the opposite side of the city — that is to say, the side 
on which Paris lies. 

It was, therefore, but lost time to stay in the Low Town. 

I walked up to the High Town, crossed the bridge, and 
returned to M. Gerbaut’s just as they were sitting down to 
dinner. Notwithstanding the stifling heat, the Place de 
Latray was crow'ded. 

During dinner. Father Gerbaut lost himself in vain con- 
jectures as to what was going on. Sophie, on the contrary, 
said not a word, scarcely lifted her eyes from her plate, and 
ate little or nothing. 

8 


130 


LOVE AND LIBERTY, 


Not being authorized by M. Drouet to tell what I knew, 
I also held my peace. 

In the mean time, in order that the reader may fully un- 
derstand what was about to take place, it is necessary for 
me to describe the scene of action. 

Varennes, as I before told you, is divided into two parts, 
the High Town and the Low Town. The High Town was 
called the Chateau. 

On coming from Clermont, you enter Varennes by a 
straight road, which, for more than two leagues, has not a 
single curve in it, with the exception of where it enters 
Neuvilly. 

All of a sudden as you approach those scattered houses 
which always foretell a city, the road takes a sudden turn 
to the right, and falls, as it were, into the midst of the city 
by the Eue des Keligieuses. 

This descent ends at the Place de Latry. 

That Place is, or rather was at the time of which I am 
writing, entirely blocked for two thirds of its length by the 
Church of St. Gengoulf, the side of which touched the 
right side of the Place (I speak of the right side with ref- 
erence to Paris), and the facades of which overlooked a 
cemetery, which, stretching from the side of the Eue de 
I’Horloge, left a passage of about thirty yards open to the 
sky. 

Another passage, intended for carriages, was formed, but 
on account of an arch stretching over it, it was impossible 
for vehicles loaded too high to pass underneath. 

Emerging from under that arch, one stood facing, five or 
six paces off, the Eue de la Basse Cour. On entering, you 
could see on the right of him the “ Hotel du Bras d’Or.’^ 

A little further on to the left stood the house of 
M. Sauce, Procureur de la Commune. 

I have already said that his house was only separated 
from M. Gerbaut’s by a passage. 

The Eue de la Basse Cour descends rapidly to a little 
Place, where it joins the Eue Neuve and the Eue St. John. 

A little running stream of rather deep but clear water, 
over a pebbly bottom, intersects the Place. A bridge, nar- 
rower than the one you would find there to-day, joins the 
two parts of the town — that is to say, the High and Low 
Town. The bridge crossed, and the corner of the “ Grand 
Monarque ” rounded, you find yourself in the Grand Place. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


131 


It was on that Place that the hussars were stationed 
before they took up their lodgings in the old Convent of 
the Cordeliers, and it was at the “ Grand Monarque,^’ 
which bore the effigy of Louis XVI, that the relays stop- 
ped ; also the two officers, whom I have since discovered 
were M. de Bouille, the younger, and M. de Raigecourt ; 
and where, for eight daj^s, they had prepared dinner for an 
imaginary traveller who was always expected, and who 
never came. 

This being all explained, the reader will be able the 
better to understand the various scenes of the drama, which 
will, in due time, be laid before him. 

Tired of seeing nothing fresh, though the day had been 
passed in excitement, at the moment the clock struck eight 
I quitted the house of M. Gerbaut. My intention was to 
walk along the road leading to Neuvilly, and if I saw 
nothing, to return home, go to bed, and patiently await the 
morrow. 

Many houses had their window's open, and wrere lighted 
up. 

The Hotel du Bras d’Or ’’ was one of these. 

Some young townsmen were playing at billiards on the 
first floor. They were MM. Coquilard, Justin, Georges, 
and Soucin. Two travellers staying at the hotel by chance 
were playing with them. These were M. Thevenin, of 
Islettes, and M. Delion, of Montfaucon. 

I passed under the arch, and entered the Place ; two or 
three houses alone were lighted up. 

The crowd had dispersed ; not a light was burning in the 
Rue des Religieuses, with the exception of two lanterns, 
which only made the darkness in the street visible. 

I walked up the street, and stopped on the summit, 
whence I could see the whole town. 

All seemed to sleep. The Low Town betrayed, especially 
on the Place, no more life. 

I saw torches waving in the direction of the “ Grand 
Monarque.’’ 

I was occupied in watching them, when I fancied that I 
heard the gallop of a horse. 

I laid myself down with my ear to the ground. 

The noise was now more distinct, on account, no doubt, 
of the horse having passed from the earth on to the stones. 


132 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


I jumped up, convinced that a horseman was approach- 
ing. 

And not only that, I fancied that I heard in the distance 
the rumble of the wheels of a carriage. 

The event expected all day, and watched for by night, 
was about to happen. 

I hid myself in the angle of the wall. 

The gallop approached rapidly. 

Presently I distinguished, in the midst of the road, a 
horseman. 

When the straggling houses came in view, the horseman 
stopped indecisively. 

It was evident that he knew not whether to stop or con- 
tinue his route. 

Por the moment, I thought of showing myself, and offer- 
ing to guide them ; but, on second thoughts, I considered 
it the least likely mode by which to gain information. 

I therefore stayed where I was, doubly hidden by the 
night and the wall. 

The horseman dismounted, passed the bridle of his 
horse over his arm, and walked on a few paces, knocking at 
the doors of the different houses to see if they would open. 

At last he knocked at No. 4. That opened. 

It was the property of a small householder, called Jour- 
dan. 

Who are you, and what do you want ? ” asked a voice. 

“ Pardon, monsieur,” returned the courier : but is this 
Varennes ? ” 

Did you wake me up to ask me such a question as that ? 
You are laughing at me ! ” 

^‘Excuse me, monsieur, but I am a stranger here, and 
wish to know if I have really arrived at Varennes.” 

“ You have, monsieur. If you have come for beds, find 
them, and leave me to my sleep. Good night ! ” 

“ Your pardon, monsieur,” said the courier ; I came 
not here to sleep, but am in advance of a carriage which ex- 
pects relays at Varennes.” 

“ I am sorry for you ; but it is no use expecting relays at 
Varennes, for we do not possess a post-house.” 

I know that, monsieur.” 

Why did you ask me, then ? ” 

A woman^s voice was heard. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 133 

Come to bed, Martin,” said she. You ought to see 
that he is only making fun of you.” 

“ You hear — my wife calls me ! ” 

He tried to close the door, but the unknown stopped him 
by placing his arm in the aperture. 

Ha, monsieur ! ” said the tradesman ; “ what does this 
mean ? Do you wish to do me an injury?” 

“Do not be frightened; I only wish to ask you a ques- 
tion.” 

“ You have asked me ten already*.” 

“I know that I am at Varennes, thanks to you ; I know 
that there is no post-house, but I knew that before. Hav- 
ing been so kind as to answer those questions, perhaps you 
will not object to one more ? ” 

“ How ? Did not you tell me that you were preceding a 
carriage to Varennes ? ” 

“ No doubt ; but you have not allowed me to continue. 
A relay ought to be ready opposite the first houses of Neu- 
villy ; I wished to ask — have you seen that relay?” 

“ Oh, that is another thing ; you should have begun to 
speak in that manner ! ” 

“ Have you seen them ? ” 

“ The relay ? ” 

“ Yes, the relay.” 

“ No, monsieur, I have not.” 

“ You must tell me all that you know, at once,” cried the 
impatient courier. 

“ I have told you about the relay, but you did not ask 
me till just now.” 

The same woman’s voice was again heard, crying out 
afresh. “Make him go, husband,” she said; “he is only 
making a fool of 3'ou — he is doing it for a wager.” 

“ You hear, sir,” said the man ; “ my wife says you are 
doing it for a wager.” 

“ Nothing of the kind, I assure you, monsieur. Thank 
you for your information ; you can now shut your door, and 
reseek your wife.” 

The tradesman slammed his door in a rage. 

“ Shall I wait here ? ” soliloquised the unknown. 

He was not long kept waiting. During the dialogue on 
the door-step, the carriage was rapidly drawing nigh ; not 
only did he hear the wheels, but the neighing of the 
horses. 


134 


LOVE A^’D LIBERTY. 


The courier, placing himself in the midst of the road, 
awaited its arrival. 


CHAPTEE XXV. 

THE TRAGEDY OF ROYALTY BEGINS. 

Scarcely five minutes had passed, when I began to dis- 
tinguish a black phantom ; and soon after I saw the sparks 
flying from under the horses’ hoofs. 

As the mass approached, I saw that it was composed of 
two carriages. 

The first was an ordinary cabriolet ; the second, an im- 
mense travelling carriage. 

On seeing the road blocked by one man, on foot, holding 
a horse by the bridle, the postilion cracked his whip, and 
shouted to the horses to go on. 

But the unknown, in an imperative voice, cried out 
“ Stop ! ” lifting his hand at the same time. I wish to 
speak to the travellers in the second carriage ! ” 

Oh, Valor^'^ ! ” cried a voice from the first j is anything 
wrong ? ” 

No, madame ; only a slight mistake.” 

Then approaching the second carriage, “Pardon,” said 
he ; “ we have arrived at Varennes, and there is no relay.” 

“ How ! — no relay ? What is the reason of it ? ” replied 
a female voice. 

“ I know not ; but I am very nervous about it.” 

“ Wake up, monsieur,” said the same voice, with an im- 
patient gesture. “Do you not hear what M. Valory 
says ? ” 

“ What does he say ? ” replied a masculine voice. 

“He says that we are at Varennes, and that there 
are no relays.” 

“ Has he asked ? ” 

“ For a quarter of an hour I knocked ; for another 
quarter, I talked, I asked, and commanded fruitlessly.” 

“ Let us get out,” said the masculine voice, “ and take 
a look about for ourselves.” 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


135 


The door opened. 

No,” said the female voice ; let me get down ; I will 
manage it,” — and she leaped nimbly to the earth. 

“ Madame — madame ! ” said the voice of a child ; “ let 
me get out with you.” 

No, Louis,” said the lady ; stay in the carriage with 
your papa ; I shall come back in a moment. Give me your 
arm, M. de Valory.” 

The courier approached, respectfully, his hat in his hand, 
and offered his arm to the lady who asked it. 

'^Here,” said she ; “just here is a door opening.” 

But as she spoke the words, though in the slightest de- 
gree open, it was shut again. 

M. de Valory jumped forward, and, at the risk of cutting 
his hand, seized the door on his side, and pulled it violent- 
ly backward. 

The door yielded to the force used, and showed a man of 
fifty or fifty-five years, holding a candle in his hand. He 
was attired in a dressing-gown, and had his naked feet 
thrust into slippers. 

This was the same M. Prefontaine whom I have already 
spoken of, and with whom M. Dampierre stayed when he 
came to Varennes. 

“ What do you want. Monsieur ? ” asked the astonished 
old Chevalier ; “ and why do you break open my door ? ” 

“Monsieur,” replied the courier, “we do not know Var- 
ennes ; we are en route for Stenay. Will you he kind 
enough to point out the road we ought to follow ? ” 

“ If I render you this service, perhaps I shall be com- 
promised ! ” 

“ You, I am sure, will never refuse to render a service to 
a lady who is in danger.” 

“ Monsieur,” said the old gentleman, “ the lady who is 
behind you is not simply a woman.” Then lowering his 
voice, he said, “ It is the Queen ! ” 

M. de Valory tried to deny it ; but the Queen, taking him 
by the arm, “Lose no time in discussion,” she said; “tell 
the King alone that we are discovered.” 

At this moment, two other young gentlemen, dressed as 
couriers, jumped down from the box of the chaise. 

“Sire,” said M. Valorj’^, “the Queen desires me to tell 
you that she is recognised.” 


136 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


By whom ? ” asked the King. 

“ By an old man, of courteous manners, who, though a 
little timid, has the air of a gentleman.^^ 

Ask him to come and speak to me,” said the King. 

M. Valory transmitted the invitation to the gentleman. 

He went to the carriage, showing signs of great appre- 
hension. 

The Queen followed him ; her face, made visible by the 
light of the candle which he held, expressed supreme dis- 
dain. 

“ Your name, sir ? ” asked the King. 

De Prefontaine,” replied the interrogated, hesitatingly. 

“ Who are you ? ” 

“ Major of cavalry, sire, and Chevalier of the Military 
Order of St. Louis.” 

“ In your double capacity as major of cavalry, and 
Chevalier of the Order of St. Louis, you have twice sworn 
fealty to your King. It is, therefore, your duty to aid me 
in the difficulty in which I find myself.” 

The Major murmured some words ; the Queen stamped 
her foot with impatience. 

“ Ah, sire ! ” said she j seb you not that the Major is 
afraid.” 

The King looked as if he had not heard her remark. 
Monsieur,” continued he, “ have you heard that a 
detachment of hussars, and relays of horses, await a 
treasure which must pass through Varennes ? ” 

Yes, sire,” replied M. de Prefontaine. 

“ Where are the hussars ? Where are the horses ? ” 

In the Low Town, sire.” 

And the officers ? ” 

At the ‘ Hotel du Grand Monarque.’ ” 

“Monsieur, I thank you,” said the King. “You can 
return to your house ; no one has seen you — no one has 
heard you ; therefore, no harm can happen to you.” 

The Major took the hint, and retired, after having made 
a profound obeisance. 

“Messieurs,” said the King, addressing the two young 
gentlemen who had dismounted from the box-seat, “ take 
your places. You, M. de Valory, jump on your horse, and 
gallop on to the ‘ Grand Monarque.’ You hear that our 
escort is there.” 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 137 

The two young gentlemen took their places, and 
M. de Valory vaulted into his saddle. 

The King and Queen re-entered the carriage, the door 
of which was shut by one of the postilions. 

“ Postilions ! ” cried all three gentlemen, with one voice, 
to the ‘ HiJitel du Grand Monarque.^ ” 

The men whipped up their horses ; but at the same 
instant, a man, covered wdth dust, on a horse flecked with 
foam, seemed to spring from the ground, and rushing diag- 
onally across the road, cried out, in a voice of thunder. 
Stop, postilions ! You drive the King ! ” 

I uttered a cry of astonishment, for I recognized the 
voice of M. Drouet. 

The postilions who had hitherto been lashing their 
horses, stopped, as if stricken by a cannon-shot. 

The Queen felt, without doubt, that it was a moment for 
decisive action. 

“ Order them ! Command them ! ” she cried, to the 
King. 

The King put his head out of the carriage window. 

Who are you, sir,’^ said he, that you dare to give 
orders here 

“ A simple citizen, sire,^’ replied M. Drouet ; “ but,” 
continued he, raising himself in his stirrups, and stretch- 
ing out his arm, “I speak in the name of the nation and 
of the law. Postilions ! not a step farther, on your lives ! ” 
^‘Postilions!” cried the King, “ to the ‘Grand Monar- 
que ! ^ It is I who command you ! ” 

“ To the ‘ Grand Monarque ! ’ ” cried the three gentle- 
men. 

“ Postilions ! ” cried M. Drouet, “ you know me well, 
and are accustomed to obey me. I am Jean Baptiste 
Drouet, postmaster at St. Menehould.” 

M. de Valory saw the indecision of the postilions — ten 
men stopped by one. He saw that it was necessary to slay 
that one, and, drawing his couteau de chasse, he went at 
him. 

In a moment, I jumped out of my hiding-place, and 
seized the bridle of his horse. 

The horse, being frightened, reared, and threw its rider. 
M. Drouet recognised me. 

“ Ah ! is it you Bene ? ” he exclaimed. Follow me ! ” 


138 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


Sticking his spurs into his horse, he seemed to sink into 
the ground, so quickly did he disappear down the declivity 
of the Rue des Eeligieuses. 

“ Here I am ! Here I am, M. Drouet ! ” cried I, follow- 
ing quickly behind him. 

M. Drouet dashed down the Rue des Eeligieuses, crossed, 
like a flash of lightning the Place Latry, plunged under 
the arch, and reappeared in a moment on the other side, in 
front of the Hotel Bras d’Or,” running up against another 
cavalier as he did so. 

“ Is it thou, Drouet ? ” said the cavalier. 

“ Is it thou, Guillaume ? ” cried Drouet. 

Yes ! ” “ Yes ! ” each replied simultaneously. 

Both dismounted, that they might pass under the 
entrance of the inn. 

In the meantime, the billiard-players, hearing a noise, 
rushed to the window, to see what it meant. 

“ Be on your guard ! ” cried M. Drouet. The King, 
with his family, are trying to escape ! They are travelling 
in two carriages. Wake up M. Sauce ! — cry ^ Fire ! fire 1 * 
Guillaume and I will guard the bridge.” 

At this moment, I arrived, and dashed against the door 
of the Procureur de la Commune, crying as loud as I could, 

Fire ! fire ! ” as M. Drouet had recommended. 

In the meantime, he and Guillaume had disappeared 
down the Rue Keuve. 

At the end of the bridge, they encountered a cart 
filled with furniture. 

Whose cart is that ? ” cried M. Drouet. 

“ Mine,” replied the driver. 

^^Ah, is it yours, Regnier?” said Guillaume. ^‘You, I 
know, are a good patriot. Turn your cart across the 
bridge ; it will stop the passage of the king.” 

The King ? ” 

Yes ; the King. He wishes to get to the Place of the 
* Grand Monarque,’ where the hussars await him.” 

I have seen them,” said Guillaume. 

‘^And I also,” said Regnier. 

Now to work,” said the two young men. 

“Yes; to work!” replied the proprietor of the furni- 
ture. 

And all three with their united efforts, managed to up- 
set the cart across the bridge. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


139 


When the operation was finished, they listened. 

They heard the rumble of the carriages, which descended 
the Kue des R^ligieiises at full speed, at the same time the 
cry of Tire ! fire ! ” burst upon their ears. 

I will now tell you what occurred on the high road, 
after M. Drouet and I left the two carriages, as well as 
T can from the description given me afterwards by M. de 
Prefontaine, who, though he had closed his door, took good 
care to open his window, and, therefore, saw and heard all 
that passed. 

M. de Valory, when he fell, did not abandon his hold on 
the bridle of his horse, and as he tumbled on soft ground, 
he escaped with a few bruises. 

He w^as, therefore, soon again mounted, and, threatening 
the postilions with his raised whip, he cried, “Well, 
wretches, have you understood ? 

“ Certainly ; and have you ? ” 

“ What ? ’’ 

“ That which M. Drouet said. He told us not to go any 
farther.” 

“ You dare to quote M. Drouet, when the King com- 
mands ! ” 

“ Get rid of the three scoundrels ! ” said one of the 
young gentlemen on the box, “and let us drive the carriage 
ourselves.” 

“ Gentlemen ! ” cried the Queen, who saw that there was 
going to be bloodshed. 

Then to the postilions — “ Gentlemen,” she said, in her 
softest voice, “ I do not order, I entreat. Fifty louis to each 
one of you, if you drive us safely to the ‘ Grand Mon- 
arque.’ ” 

Frightened of the swords of the gentlemen, and melted 
by the entreaty of the Queen, the postilions set off at a 
gallop. 

But they had lost ten minutes, and these ten minutes 
M. Drouet had turned to profi^t. 

They dashed on, but were obliged to avoid the arch, for 
fear of breaking their heads, so they turned round the 
church, and began to descend the Eue Basse Cour. 

But before they could execute that manoeuvre, their 
course was suddenly arrested. 

The cabriolet, as we have said, preceded the chaise ; but 


140 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


scarcely had it turned out of the Place, when the bridles of 
the horses were seized by two men. These were the elder 
Leblanc, and M. Thevenin, of Islettes. 

That first carriage contained hut two maids of honor to 
the Queen — Mesdames Brunier and De Neuville. 

“Messieurs! messieurs!” cried they; “what is your 
will ? ” 

At this moment, a man advanced towards the cabriolet. 
He was the Procureur de la Commune, M. Sauce, who, 
awakened from his sleep had sallied out, determined to do 
his duty. 

“ Excuse me, ladies,” said he, “ but, without doubt, you 
have passports ? ” 

“ They are with the people in the other carriage,” 
replied Madame de Neuville. 

The cabriolet having stopped, the chaise was forced to do 
likewise ; thus it was completely blockaded. MM. Drou- 
et, Guillaume, and Begnier, having finished barricading 
the bridge, rushed to the spot. There were four persons, 
armed with guns — namely, our four billiard-players, Coquil- 
lard, J ustin, Soucin, and Delion ; a fifth had arrived — 
namely, Billaud, who had heard the noise ; and a sixth, 
M. Bellay, opened his door, and seemed not less ardent than 
the others. 

All at once, I felt my arm grasped by a trembling hand, 
and the voice of Sophie whispered in my ear “ For the 
love of me, B4ne, do not meddle in this matter ! ” 

If M. Drouet had required my assistance, I am afraid 
that he would have triumphed over Sophie; but he did not, 
as he was incurring no present danger ; so I stood silent, 
motionless at the corner of the street, with Sophie on my 
arm. 

M. Gerbaut’s window opened, and we heard him ask 
what w^as the matter. 

All the windows and doors in the street opened one after 
the other, the cries of “ Fire ! fire ! ” having alarmed all, 
and made them anxious to see what was the matter. 

During this time, M. Sauce had been approaching the 
chaise ; and as if he knew not who the travellers were — 
“ Who are you ? ” 

“I am the Baroness de Korlf,” replied Madame de 
Tourzel, governess of the Dauphin. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


141 


Where are you going ? 

‘^To Frankfort, with my two children, my two sisters, my 
steward, and my two female attendants. The latter are in 
the first carriage.’^ 

“ Madame,’’ said Sauce, ‘‘ you are going the wrong way 
to Frankfort — but that is not the question. Have you a 
passport ? ” 

Madame de Tourzel drew the passport from her pocket, 
and presented it to the Procureur de la Commune. 

The passport was correct. It was, in fact, that of 
Madame de Korfi*, which M. de Fersen had given to the 
Queen. 

M. Sauce took the passport, whteh the false Baroness 
handed him ; and, b}’’ the light of a lantern which an offi- 
cious bystander offered him, began to reconnoitre the King. 

The king, no doubt, wounded by the mark of disrespect, 
tried to make some resistance. 

“ Who are you, sir ? ” asked he of the magistrate. 

What is your rank ? Are you only a National Guard ? ” 

“ I am Procureur de la Commune,” replied M. Sauce. 

The King, whether dumbfounded by the force of these 
words, or conceiving that the response was sufficient, made 
no further objections. 

The procureur threw his eyes over the passport, and 
addressing, not the King, but the false Baroness de Koff, — 
‘‘ Madame,” said he, it is too late to viser a passport to- 
night ; and, on the other hand, it is my duty to detain 
you ! ” 

The Queen interposed. 

Why so, sir ? ” she demanded in an imperative manner. 

‘‘Because, did I permit you to continue your route, I 
should be running a risk, on account of the reports that are 
flying about.” 

‘‘ Pray, sir, to what reports do you allude ? ” 

“ The report of the flight of the King and his family,” 
replied Sauce, fixedly regarding the King. 

The travellers were aghast. The Queen drew back into 
the shadow of the carriage. 

All this time, the passport was being examined, in a pub- 
lic room in the “ Grand Monarque,” by the light of two 
candles. A member of th'e council remarked that the pass- 
port was correct, since it had been signed by the King and 
the Minister for Foreign Affairs. 


142 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


Yes,” remarked Drouet, who had arrived with Guil- 
laume and Eegnier during the discussion, but it is not 
signed by the President of the National Assembly ! ” 

“ How ? ” said a voice. “ Why should it be signed by 
him ? ” 

Certainly, it should be,” said Drouet, “ consdering that 
France is a nation — considering that it has appointed depu- 
ties to maintain its rights. The true King of France is he 
who sat on a seat as lofty as the King’s at the Champ de 
Mars — not only the veritable, but the more than King ! ” 

All were silent. No one could oppose such logic as that. 
That great social question, which had disturbed France for 
seven hundred years, — “ Is there in France an authority 
superior to the King’s ? ” was settled in the public room of 
an inn in a little town on the borders of the Forest of 
Argonne. 

Drouet walked straight to the carriage. In all popular 
movements he took the lead, and, therefore, the responsi- 
bility. 

^‘Madame,” said he, addressing the Queen, and not 
Madame Tourzel, if you are really Madame de Korff — 
that is to say, a Swiss, and consequently a stranger — how 
is it that you have sufficient influence to command a 
military escort consisting of a detachment of dragoons at 
St. Menehould, and another at Clermont ; also a first 
detachment of hussars at Pont-de-Somme-Vesles, and a 
second at Varennes ? ” 

To end a fatiguing discussion, and one in which M. 
Drouet feared that the Procureur, an honest man enough, 
but not equal to any great situation, would eventually 
yield, he put his hand into the carriage as a support for the 
Queen, and said, “ Will you be so kind, ma<iame, as to 
descend ? ” 

To tell the truth, the Procureur was most dreadfully 
embarrassed. 

Encouraged by M. Drouet’s invitation to the Queen, and 
hearing the tocsin begin to ring, he, however, approached 
the door — from which he had been turned to make place 
for M. Drouet — with great humility, his hat in his hand. 

The Municipal Council is deliberating,” said he, 

whether it would be advisable to allow you to continue 
your route j but a report, wrong or otherwise, has been 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


143 


spread about that it is the King and his august family 
whom we have the honor of receiving in our walls. I heg 
you, therefore, to accept the shelter of my house, in all 
amity, until such time as the council shall have finished 
their deliberation. Against our will the tocsin has been 
sounded. The concourse of the inhabitants of the city is 
increased by the entry of the country people ; and, perhaps, 
the King — if, in truth, I have the honor of addressing a 
King — may be exposed to insults which we should be 
unable to prevent, and which would fill us with unmitigated 
grief ! 

It was no use his resisting. The Low Town was evi- 
dently ignorant of what was passing in the High Town. 
No succor arrived, or, indeed, appeared likely to arrive. 
The three young gentlemen dressed as couriers had no 
other arms than their couteaux de chasse, and could not 
undertake to fight with thirty men armed with guns. The 
tocsin still vibrated in the air, and found an echo in every 
heart. 

The King set the example, and alighted. 

I then had a good view of him, and my astonishment at 
seeing a king in such a costume was great 

He wore a drab gray coat, a satin waistcoat, and a pair 
of gray trousers, gray stockings, shoes with buckles, and a 
three cornered hat. 

In descending, he knocked his head against the top of 
the door, and his hat fell off. His hair was in tresses on 
the top of his head, and was fixed there with an ivory 
comb. 

In a word, his costume corresponded with the title of a 
steward, which he bore in the passport of Madame Korff. 

I picked up the hat, and handed it to him. 

The Queen descended next, and after her, Madame Roy- 
ale and the Dauphin, who was disguised as a little girl ; 
then came Madame Elizabeth, and, last, Madame de Tour- 
zel. 

Sauce had opened wide the door of his shop, and passed 
all sorts of compliments on the King whom he persisted in 
calling “your Majesty,^^ though the King equally. persisted 
that his name was M. Durand. 

The Queen had not the courage to support this humiliat- 
ing assumption. 


144 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


“ Well, then,” said she, “ if monsieur is your King, and 
I your Queen, treat us with the respect that our rank 
demands.” 

At these words, the King was ashamed, and said, ^Wery 
well, I am your King ; there is your Queen, and there are 
our children.” 

Though vulgar enough in his royal dress, the King lost 
altogether what little dignity he had under the costume of 
a steward. 

Besides, always unfortunate, a grocer^s shop, with its sur- 
roundings, was not the most romantic spot in which to utter 
those royal words : — 

Placed in the capital, in the midst of swords and bay- 
onets, I came to seek in the countrj^, in the midst of my 
faithful subjects, the liberty and peace that were denied me 
in Paris.” 

Then, opening his arms, he pressed poor M. Sauce, par- 
alyzed with the honor, to his breast. 

At the moment that the King embraced M. Sauce, a 
thunder of horses^ hoofs was heard coming in an unexpected 
direction — that is to say, from the Place Latry. 

The King believed that it was assistance, but the patriots 
smelt danger ; and M. Drouet cried out, “ Take the King 
up to the first floor ! ” 

Sauce asked the King to follow him, and he did so, with- 
out making any difficulty. 

Scarcely was the door of the chamber on the ground-floor 
shut, when they heard a tumult at the head of the Rue de 
la Basse Cour, by the side of the Place Latry. 

Many voices cried out The King ! the King ! ” 

One voice alone replied, If it is the King you want, 
you will have him dead ! ” 

Recognizing Drouet’s voice, and thinking perhaps he 
might want me, I crept to his side. 

At the moment that I opened a passage to him they were 
parleying; hut M. Drouet and his friends parleyed with 
muskets in their hands, and the officers of hussars with 
their sabres on their wrists. 

Between the two officers of hussars I recognised M. de 
Malmy on horseback, and covered with dust, like them. 

It appeared as if he had guided them. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


145 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

WHAT HAPPENED AT PARIS BEFORE THE DEPARTURE. 

My story would be incomplete did I not follow the royal 
family in their flight from the moment that they left the 
Palace of Tuileries, till their appearance at the top of the 
Rue des Religieuses ; and did I not tell you through what 
circumstances M. Drouet was led to make his appearance in 
time to change the face of events, and to give that terrible 
blow to the throne of the Bourbons which occasioned Louis 
XVI not only the loss of his crown, but of his head. 

I have already told you that Mirabeau, on his death-bed, 
asserted that the King’s only hope rested in flight now that 
he was deprived of his assistance. 

From that moment, Louis XVI had but one idea — to 
leave Paris — to leave France — to fly to a foreign land. 

We have mentioned the date of April, 1791. 

This is what happened on that date. 

The King had wished to go to St. Cloud ; that was on 
the Easter Monday. 

The King, the Queen, the bishops, the servants, filled the 
carriages in which they were to make the short travel of 
two leagues ; but the people prevented the King from leav- 
ing the Tuileries. 

The King insisted,; the tocsin of Saint Roch began to 
sound an alarm. 

He leaned back in his carriage ; thousands of voices cried, 

No, no ! He is going to fly ! ” 

I love you too well to leave you ! ” said the King. 

<<We, also, love you!” replied the spectators, with one 
voice ; “ but you alone ! ” 

The Queen, shut out from the love of France, wept and 
stamped ; but, for all that, was obliged to re-enter the 
Tuileries. 

The King was a prisoner, there was no doubt about it ; 
but it is permitted to a prisoner to escape. 

From this moment the King prepared for flight. 

Two other parties were as desirous as the King that he 
should leave France. 

9 


146 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


The one, the Royalist party, because the King, once free, 
“would be able to re-enter France with a foreign army ; the 
other, the Republican party, because they could not form a 
republic, -without cutting his head off. 

Therefore, one will perceive that they who arrested the 
King belonged to a third party — the Constitution. 

His decision taken, the King began to put it into execu- 
tion. 

The Queen was the mainspring of the plot ; the prin- 
cesses of the house of Austria have been invariably evil genii 
to the Kings of France — Marie de Medicis, Anne of Aus- 
tria, Marie Antoinette, and Marie Louise. 

The King might have fled alone, and that was the idea 
that first occurred to him j in which case he would have trav- 
elled on horseback. « 

But, during the terrible night of the 5th of October, the 
Queen became so frightened, that she made the King swear 
never to leave France without her and their children. 

It was then resolved that they should all. King, Queen, 
and children, fly together. 

That doubled, trebled, and quadrupled the difficulty, and 
made escape almost an impossibility. 

The Queen undertook the deception. 

The Queen had more interest than the King in leaving 
France. Hear you that cry of the 18th of April, 1791, 
which interpreted the feelings of a nation, and which said, 
“We, also, sire ! We love you, hut you alone !''' 

In January, 1791, the flight was resolved upon. 

In February, the King wrote to M. de Bouille : — 

“ I have overtures to make to you on the part of 
M. Mirabeau. The Count de Lamark will be our intermed- 
iate.” 

He added : — 

“Although these people are not very estimable, still I 
have paid M. Mirabeau a good sum of money. I think 
that he will be useful.” 

M. de Bouill4 replied : — 

“ Cover with gold the defection of Mirabeau. He is an 
accomplished scoundrel, who will repair, through cupidity, 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


147 


the evil that he has worked through vengeance ; but defy 
Lafayette, enthusiastic, chimerical, capable, perhaps, of 
being the chief of a party, but incapable of supporting a 
monarchy.’^ 

Bemark that De Bouille was the cousin of Lafayette. 
He was not, as one can see, blinded bj'- the relationship. 

About the end of April, the King wrote again to 
M. de Bouille. 

“ I go out almost incessantly in my carriage with all my 
family — a carriage made expressly to hold all.” 

M. de Bouille replied : — 

In the place of that berlin expressly made, and which 
will naturally draw attention, it will be more prudent for 
your Majesty to use two English coaches.” 

The coaches mentioned were the post-chaises in common 
use at that period. 

The counsel was good, but the Queen combated the idea. 
She did not wish to be separated from the King, and did 
not wish the children to be separated from herself. 

M. de Bouille continued : — 

“ Have with you in your perilous journey a man with the 
head of a Solon, and the arm of a Hercules — one who can 
plan and execute. I can point such a man out to you. He 
is the Marquis d’Agout, Major of the French Guards.” 

The King adopted this counsel. We will see, later on, 
how it was that M. d’Agout did not arrive at Varennes. 

The King, in a third letter, asked M. de Bouille to estab- 
lish relays from Chalons to Montmedy, his intention being 
to avoid Rheims, where he had been consecrated, and might 
be recognized, and pass through Varennes. 

M. de Bouille replied, that in passing through Bheims, 
the carriage blinds could be drawn down ; but that he was 
sorry that the King persisted in using that noticeable berlin ; 
that at two points on the road to Varennes there were no 
post-horses, so it would be necessary to send some ; and, 
lastly, that as there were no soldiers on that route, it would 
be necessary to order up some detachments, which might 
excite suspicion. 


148 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


The King persisted in going the Yarennes route. 

He sent a million in assignats to M. de Bouille, to defray 
whatever expenses there might be with regard to troops, 
&c., &c., and asked him to send an experienced officer to re- 
connoitre the road to Yarennes. 

M. de Bouille could not but obey so positive a command. 

He sent, on the 10th of June, M. Goguelot to reconnoitre 
— a mission fitted only for a courageous and intelligent offi- 
cer. 

M. Goguelot was both. 

On the appointed day the detachment set out. 

One might have seen a train of artillery of six pieces 
setting out for Montmedy, the Boyal Germans taking the 
Stenay route, a squadron of hussars going towards Dun, and 
another towards Yarennes; and at the same time, fift}’’ de- 
tached men under the command of M. de Choiseul, pushed 
on for Pont-de-Somne-Yesles, where the King would meet 
them as first post. 

Afterwards, at St. Menehould, he would have found a de- 
tachment of dragoons, under the command of M. Dan- 
douins. 

At Clermont he would have found another detachment, 
under the command of M. de Damas. 

He would have found the relaj^s and a detachment of 
hussars, under the command of MM. Bouille, and De 
Baigecourt, at Yarennes, and at Stenay he would have 
found M. Stenay in person. 

All being arranged, the King wrote to De Bouille, fixing 
the day for the 19th of the June following. 


CHAPTEB XXYII. 

now THEY SET OUT. 

This was the third or fourth time that the date of de- 
])arture had been altered. 

They had determined to depart on the 11th, but having 
refused to take Madame de Bochereul, femme de chamhre 
to the Dauphin, and mistress of M. de Gouvion, aide-de- 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


149 


camp to Lafayette, and who was now on duty till the 12th, 
they thought that it was imprudent to depart on that day. 

On the 13th of June, the Austrians began to advance on 
the French frontier, and to occupy posts two leagues from 
Montmedy. 

The departure was postponed until the 15th following. 

On the evening of the 15th, the King set out with the 
royal family, in a plain carriage, the berlin awaiting them 
at Bondy. 

If the King did not arrive at Bondy at two o’clock, it 
was arranged that it should be taken for granted that he 
had been stopped at the Tuileries or at the barrier. 

In that case, it was arranged that the person in charge 
of the berlin should set out alone, and not stop till he 
arrived at Ponte-de-Somme-Vesles ; and when there, that 
he should inform M. de Choiseul that the project had 
failed. 

M. de Choiseul would then tell M. Dandouins, M. de 
Dam as, M. de Bouille, and each would provide for their 
own safety. 

M. de Bouille received these new instructions, and ar- 
ranged accordingly. 

M. de Choiseul set out at the same time for Paris. 

At Paris, M. de Choiseul awaited the orders of the King, 
and started twelve hours in advance. 

The men and horses belonging to M. de Choiseul would 
stay at Varennes from the 18th. 

On the 19th, fresh and renovated, they would pass 
through Varennes, and put up at a farm, half way between 
Varennes and Keuvilly. One must call to mind that there 
was no post at Varennes. 

On the arrival of the King, they would take the place of 
the post-horses from Clermont, and conduct the royal family 
to Dun. 

On his return, M. de Choiseul, who, as we said, preceded 
the King bj’ twelve hours, would take command of the forty 
busses at Pont-de-Somme-Vesles. At Pont-de-Somme- 
Vesles he would await the King, and w’ould escort him to 
St. Menehould. At St. Menehould the hussars would give 
place to the dragoons, and be left to block the road. 

After the King, no one would be allowed to pass. 

After tw'enty-four hours the road would be left clear, 
for by that time the King would be beyond the frontier. 


150 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


M. de Choiseul had orders signed hy the King, authoriz- 
ing him to demand the needful number of men. Six 
hundred louis d’or were distributed by him to the soldiers. 

On the 14th of June, M de Bouille, who was in Hun- 
gary, received a letter from the King. 

The departure is postponed for twenty-four hours. 
Whence came this new delay ? 

We will tell you : the reason was a serious one. 

The King did not receive his quarterly inconie until the 
20th ; and being economical, he did not wish to lose it. 

This reason, good as it was, made M de Bouille despair. 

In fact it made it necessary to give fresh orders all along 
the line. Instead of two days, the relays would have to 
wait three ; the same with the troops. 

On the 20th of June, M. de Bouille advanced to Stenay, 
where he found the Royal Germans. 

We have already seen that, on the same day, the hussars 
arrived at St. Menehould, announcing the arrival of the 
dragoons. 

We know, through M. Drouet, what a sensation their un- 
expected appearance created. 

We have seen another hussar detachment arrive at 
Varennes, causing little less sensation than their brothers- 
in-arms did at St. Menehould. 

Let us now turn our attention to Paris, and see what was 
going on these last few days. 

We have already said that the Queen managed the diplo- 
macy. She diplomatised wonderfully. 

Firstly, she had used the white horses which drew the 
funeral car of M. Voltaire. 

Secondly, on the 19th, she took a stroll with the Dauphin 
on the outer boulevards. 

Thirdly, on the 20th, she said to M. Montmorin, Minister 
of Foreign Affairs, ‘‘ Have you seen Madame Elizabeth ? 
She causes me pain. I wished her to accompany me in the 
procession of the Fete Dieu, and she refuses me.” 

On the same day, meeting a commander of the National 
Guard, “Well, monsieur,” said she, laughing, “do they 
still speak of -the flight of the King from Paris? ” 

“ No, Madame,” replied the commander ; they are too 
well convinced of the King’s love for the Constitution and 
for his people.” 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


151 


They are right,” replied the Queen. 

On the ITth, M. Moustier, ex-garde du corps, had been 
accosted by an unknown whilst he was walking in the 
Tuileries. 

The unknown had invited him to follow him in the name 
of the King. 

M. Moustier had obeyed. Ten minutes afterwards he 
was in the presence of the King. 

Louis XVI saluted him by name. 

The garde du corps, astonished, bowed. 

** I know you, monsieur,” said the King, and feel as- 
sured that I can count upon you j that is why I am now 
addressing you.” 

“Whatever your wishes may be, I hope I shall prove 
myself worthy of your confidence, sire.” 

“ Think you that I can count equally well on your two 
friends, De Valory and De Malden ? ” 

“ I am assured of it, sire.” 

“Well, tell them to have made vests of chamois leather, 
trousers of hide, jack-boots, and velvet caps.” 

The choice of chamois leather was most imprudent, as it 
was the color of the Prince de Conde, when he emigrated. 

M. de Moustier was then asked to walk every evening 
on the Pont Royal. There, a confidential servant, who 
knew him by sight, would bring him the last orders of. the 
King. 

On the evening of the 19th, M. Moustier received the 
following order : — 

“ M. de Moustier and his companions are desired to be in 
the court of the Chateau to-morrow, at nine o’clock in the 
evening ; they will then learn what is required of them.” 

Now, about the passport. We know that the Queen 
travelled under the name of the Baroness de KorfF. The 
two children were the Dauphin and Madame Royal; the 
intendant was the King ; and the two femmes-d'e-chambre 
Mesdames de Keuville and Brunier. 

That did not comprise, it is true, Madame Elizabeth, or 
M. d’Agout, whom M. de Bouille had recommended the 
King to take with him, but they were obliged to trust 
something to chance. 

On the morning of the 20th, M. Moustier presented his 
two companions to the King. 


152 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


M. Malden .was to take the name of Jean, M. de Mou- 
stier the name ot Melchior, and M. Valory the name of 
rran 9 ois. As for M. de Choiseiil, he awaited the orders of 
the King at his house. Rue d^ Artois, on the 20th. Up to 
three o’clock, he had heard nothing, and he ought to start 
twelve hours in advance of the King. He began to 
despair, when a servant entered to say that a messenger 
had arrived from the Queen. 

He ordered the messenger to be shown up. 

The fellow entered. He had a great hat thrust over his 
eyes, and was wrapped in an immense cloak. 

It was the Queen’s hairdresser, the famous Leonard, who 
has left his memoirs to posterity. He* was a personage of 
the utmost importance. 

“ What, Leonard ! It was not you whom I expected ; 
hut, since you are come, make yourself at home.” 

“ It is not my fault if I have kept you waiting, M. le 
Comte ; hut it is hut ten minutes since I left the Queen to 
come here.” 

“ And she has told you nothing, given you no mes- 
sage ? ” cried the Count, astonished. 

“ She told me to take all her diamonds, and bring you 
this letter.” 

•‘Well, well — give it me ! ” . 

M. de Choiseul read the letter. 

It was long, and full of instructions. It announced 
that they would leave punctually to the moment. 

^ As to the Comte de Choiseul, it commanded him to set 
out that instant, begging him to take Leonard with him, 
who, continued Marie Antoinette, had orders to obey him as 
be would herself. 

M. de Choiseul read aloud that recommendation to Leon- 
ard, who made a lowly obeisance. 

He then burnt the letter. 

At this moment one of the Comte’s servant entered. 

‘‘ The carriage awaits M. le Comte,” said he. 

“ Come, my dear Leonard — come ! ” said the young gen- 
tleman. 

“ Why should I come ? ” cried the stupefied hairdresser. 

“ Why should you ? Are you not to obey me as you 
would the Queen ? Come ! I command you ! ” 

But her Majesty’s diamonds ?” 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


153 


** You will bring them with you.” 

“ Where ? ” 

Where we are going.” 

But where are we going ? ” 

A few leagues from here, where we have to fulfil a most 
particular and important mission.” 

“ Impossible, M. le Comte ! ” cried Leonard, drawing him- 
self back with affright. 

“ Leonard, you forget that her Majesty said that you were 
to obey me as you would herself.” 

He then assisted the despairing hairdresser to mount into 
the cabriolet, and lashed the horse into full speed in the di- 
rection of the Petite Vilette. 

At the same hour that M. de Choiseul passed the barrier 
the three guards were admitted to the presence of the King, 
and then shut up in an ante-chamber. 

At ten o’clock M. de Layfayette was announced. 

He was attended by MM. de Gouvin and De Komeuf, 
his aides-:de-camp. 

Madame de Rochereul, his mistress, had told him that 
the flight was arranged for the same night. 

The Queen and Madame Elizabeth had gone in the eve- 
ning, without an escort, to promenade in the Bois de Bou- 
logne. 

M. de Lafayette, with the exquisite politeness which was 
one of his characteristics, asked the Queen if she had en- 
joj^ed her stroll; and added, “Your Majesty was wrong to 
stay out so late.” 

“ Why so, sir ? ” asked the Queen. 

“ Because the evening fog might do you an injury.” 

“What! a fog in the middle of June?” said she. “In 
truth, unless I manufactured one on purpose to hide our 
flight, which people talk so much about, I do not know 
where I should find one.” 

‘‘ The fact is, madame,” replied the General, “ people 
not only talk about your flight, but I have received infor- 
mation that it will take place this evening.” 

“ Ah ! ” said the Queen ; “ I engage that it is 

M. de Gouvion who has given you that good news.” 

“ Why I, madame ?” said the young ofBcer, blushing. 

“ I do not know,” replied the Queen, “ except that, per- 
haps, you hear a great deal more than is true at the cha- 


154 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


teau. Wait ! Here is M. Romeuf, who hears no news ; I 
am sure he will contradict the rumor/^ 

There is no great credit in doing that, madame,” said 
the young man, “ when the King has given his word to 
the Assembly not to leave Paris.” 

At ten o^clock, General Lafayette and his aides-de-camp 
retired. 

AVhen they were gone, the Queen and Madame Elizabeth 
summoned their domestics to perform the necessary offices 
of their toilettes, and at eleven, as was their custom, they 
retired for the night. 

The doors shut, each commenced to dress. 

The Queen and Madame Elizabeth assisted each other. 
They had some plain dresses, and hats, with hoods, to hide 
the face. 

They had scarcely finished their disguise, when the King 
entered, in his costume of intendant. 

Eor the last eight days, the King’s valet. Hue, had been 
in the habit of going out in the costume the King now 
wore, and by the same door the King intended to depart 
from. This was done in order to accustom the sentinel to 
a man dressed in gray. 

On arriving, he released the three guards from their 
hiding-place. 

Madame Royale was ready, but the Dauphin was not. 
He had been awakened from his first sleep ; and so, for the 
sake of disguise, it had been arranged to dress him like a 
girl. He made all sorts of objections to the humiliating 
costume. 

He asked, If he were intended to act in a comedy ? ” 
They replied Yes.” And as he liked comedies, he allow- 
ed them to finish his toilette. 

The gardes du corps received their last instructions. 

They were to travel as far as Bondy on M. de Person’s 
horses ; after that they were to take post. 

They had calculated that, if they went at a moderate rate, 
they would be at Chalons in twelve or fourteen hours. 
Thej’^ approached the door, and listened. All was silent. 

Let us see with what difficulties they encompassed them- 
selves. 

Firstly, against M. de Bouille’s advice, who proposed two 
English diligencies, the Queen had had made two enormous 
berlins, in which she might put her trunks, boxes and bags. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


155 


Then, in place of having a courier in simple livery, there 
were three gardes du corps, in the livery of the Prince do 
Conde. 

Then, in place of choosing three men who knew the 
route, they chose three who had never travelled that way 
before. 

Then, in place of hiding the King, who was supposed to 
be Madame de Korff’s steward, in the other carriage, he 
was placed face to face and knee to knee, with his pretend- 
ed mistress, in the principal conveyance. 

Then, in place of having the carriages drawn by two, or 
even four, horses, they must needs have six, not remember- 
ing that the King alone is allowed to have that number. 

Then, in place of arming the gardes du corps to the 
teeth, they give them small hunting-knives for use, and 
locked up the pistols and other implements of warfare in 
the trunk, covered with red, bordered with gold, the same 
as the King used at Cherbourg. 

Then, in place of taking M. d’Agout, that resolute man 
who knew the route, and whom M. de Bquilld had recom- 
mended, they take Madame Tourzel, the children’s gover- 
ness, who claimed the place by etiquette that D’Agout 
would have won by devotion. 

Taking all in all, every precaution was taken. 

Quos vuLt perdere Jupiter prius dementat. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

THE ROAD. 

In a moment, the clock struck eleven. 

Every stroke penetrated the hearts of the fugitives, and 
caused them to tremble. 

They went out, one hy one. But how were they able to 
make a passage to the court, you will ask? This is how it 
was. 

Madame de Rochereul, whose duties had finished on the 
12th, occupied a little chamber which opened into another, 
which had not been used for six months. 


156 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


The empty apartment was M. Yillequier’s, first gentle- 
man of the bed-chamber. It w:as empty because M. Ville- 
quier had emigrated. 

That apartment, situate on the ground floor, had a door 
opening into the Cour des Princes. 

On one side, the chamber of Madame de Pochereul 
opened both into one belonging to M. Yillequier and Mad- 
ame Royale. 

On the 11th, the moment that Madame Eochereul quit- 
ted the chateau, the King and Queen visited her apart- 
ment. 

Under the pretext of enlarging Madame Royale’s suite 
of rooms, the Queen kept these apartments, and said that 
the femme-de-chambre of the Dauphin could share those 
of Madame de Chinnai, maid of honor. 

When in the apartment of M. Yillequier, the King 
demanded the key of M. Renard, inspector of buildings. 
It was sent to him on the 13th of June. 

Numerous as were the sentinels, they had neglected to 
place one at the door of that chamber, which had been 
unoccupied for the space of three months. At eleven 
o’clock in the evening, the services in the chateau being 
finished, the sentinels were accustomed to witness the 
departure of a great number of people at one time. 

So that once in the apartment of M. Yillequier, and as 
the clock struck eleven, they had every chance of escaping 
unobserved. 

It was M. de Person’s business to smuggle the royal 
family out of Paris, unobserved. 

He was waiting with a fiacre, disguised as a coachman, 
at the Wicket de I’Echelle ; thence he was to take the 
fugitives to the barrier at Clichy, where the berlin was in 
waiting, under the charge of an Englishman, Mr. Craw- 
ford. 

The three gardes du corps were to follow, in another 
fiacre. 

The two femmes-de-chamhre, Madame Brunier and Mad- 
ame de Neuville, went on foot to the Pont Royal, where 
they found a two-horsed carriage stationed, in which they 
started for Claye, where they were to await the Queen. 

Madame Elizabeth stepped out first, with Madame Roy- 
ale; then came Madame de Tourzel, and the Dauphin, 
accompanied by one of the gardes du corps. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 157 

The two parties were separated one from the other hy 
about twenty paces. 

One of the sentinels crossed the road, and on seeing the 
first party, stopped them. 

Oh, aunt ! ” cried Madame Eoyale ; we are lost I 
That man recognises us ! 

Madame Elizabeth made no reply, but continued to 
advance. 

Madame Koyale was deceived. They were not recog- 
nised — or, if they were, it was by a fiviend. 

The sentinel turned his back on them, and allowed them 
to pass. 

At the expiration of five minutes, Madame de Tourzel, 
the two princesses, and the Dauphin were in the carriage, 
which was awaiting them at the corner of the Rue de 
TEchelle. 

M. de Eersen was so well disguised, that the princesses 
did not recognize him. It was he who knew them. He 
leapt from his box, opened the door, and assisted them in. 

At the moment that M. de Eersen shut the door, an 
empty fiacre passed by. Seeing a brother cabman stop- 
ping, he stopped likewise, and began to enter into a conver- 
sation about the times. 

M. de Eersen, a man of ready wit, sustained the conver- 
sation wonderfully, and, drawing a snuff-box from his 
pocket, offered his friend a pinch. 

He plunged his fingers deep into the box, took a long and 
voluptuous sniff, and drove on. 

At this moment the King, followed by his garde du 
corps, came out in his turn, his hands in his pockets, and 
swaggering like a well-to-do tradesman. 

He was followed by the second garde. 

During his passage, one of the buckles of his shoes 
slipped off. The King did not care to stop for such a 
trifling matter as that, but the garde who came after him 
picked it up. 

M. de Eersen got in front of the King. 

And the Queen, sire ? asked he. 

The Queen follows us,” replied the King. 

He then got into the carriage in his turn. 

They awaited the Queen. 

Half an hour passed, and she did not arrive. 


158 


LOVE AND LIBEKTT. 


What detained her ? 

The Queen was lost. She maintained that the Wicket 
de I’Echelle w^as to the right. The third garde, not knowing 
Paris well, yielded to the Queen’s certainty, though he fan- 
cied that it was to the left. 

They therefore left by the wicket at the water’s side ; got 
confused on the quays'; crossed the byidge; walked down 
the E-ue du Bac, where the Queen was forced to acknow- 
ledge her error, as they had completely lost their way. 

The garde was compelled to inquire the way to the 
Wicket de I’Echelle. The}" had to cross the Place de 
Carrousel a second time. Under the arch, they found 
themselves face to face with some lacqueys, carrying 
torches, and escorting a carriage which was approaching at 
a trot. The Queen had just time to turn her face to the 
wall, in order to avoid being recognised. 

She had recognised Lafayette. 

The garde came to the front, in order to the more effec- 
tually screen her. 

But she struck the wheels of the carriage with the little 
cane that ladies carried at that period, saying, ^*Go to, 
gaoler ! — I am out of thy power.” 

This is but a tradition ; the garde says, on the contrary, 
that the Queen was so frightened, that she dropped his arm 
and fled, but that he ran after her, took her by the hand, 
and drew her back. 

They crossed the Carrousel at full speed, passed the 
Wicket de I’Echelle, and at last saw the carriage which 
was awaiting them. 

M. de Fersen assisted the Queen into the vehicle, and she 
sank into her seat by the side of the King, trembling with 
fear. 

M. de Eersen had stopped a voiture, for the accommoda- 
tion of the three gardes du corps. 

They jumped into it, telling the driver to follow the 
other vehicle. 

M. de Fersen, who knew not Paris much better than the 
garde du corps, who had followed the Queen, fearing to get 
lost in the streets, went to Faubourg St. Honore, along the 
length of the Tuileries. 

Thence, he soon found his way to the barriere of Clichy. 

A few paces before the house of Mr. Crawford, the gardes 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 159 

du corps got dowD, paid and dismissed tbeir vehicle, and 
took their places behind the other. 

The travelling berlin was ready when they arrived. 

The change was effected. 

M. de Fersen overturned his carriage in a ditch, then 
mounted on the box of the berlin. One of his men 
mounted a horse, and conducted them to Daumont. 

They took at least an hour to arrive at Bondy. 

All progressed capitally. 

At Bondy, they found the two femmes-de~chambrej who 
were to have awaited them at Claye. 

It appeared that they came in a cabriolet, expecting to 
find at Bondy a post-chaise ; but there were none, so they 
had struck a bargain with the postmaster for a cabriolet, 
the price of which was a thousand francs. 

The driver of the other cabriolet was brushing down his 
horse previously to returning to Paris. 

At this place, M. de Person was to leave their Majesties. 

He kissed the King’s hand, in order that he might bo 
able to kiss the Queen’s. 

M. de Person would rejoin them in Austria. 

He returned to Paris, to acquaint himself with what was 
going on ; he would then start for Brussels. 

Man proposes, God disposes. 

The Queen, two years later, was executed in the Place de 
la Bevolution ; and M. de Person perished at Stockholm, 
where he was slain in a riot, stricken to death by blows 
from umbrellas, administered by drunken women. 

But, mercifully, the future was not known to them. 
They parted full of hope. 

M. de Valory borrowed a post-horse, and galloped on in 
advance, to command the relays. 

M. de Malden and De Moustier took their seats on the 
box of the berlin, which set off at the full speed of which 
six vigorous horses were capable. 

The cabriolet came on in the rear. 

M. de Person followed with his eyes the carriage, rapidly 
disappearing in the distance ; and when it had entirely dis- 
appeared, he got into his own carriage, and returned to 
Paris. 

He had on his costume as coachman ; and much did it 
astonish the driver of the cabriolet to see a coachman kiss- 
ing the hands of the King, disguised as a domestic. 


160 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


It is true that M. de Fersen had only kissed the King’s 
hands in order to be able to go through the same ceremony 
with regard to the Queen. 

That was another imprudence added to those which we 
have already mentioned. 

All went well as far as Montmirail, where the traces of 
the roj^al carriage snapped asunder. 

It was necessary to stop. They thus lost two hours — the 
daj^'s were long ; the night of the 20th of June is the short- 
est in the year. 

Then they came to a hill. The King insisted on their 
walking up ; thus they lost another half-hour. 

Half-past four sounded from the cathedral as the herlin 
entered Chalons, and stopped at the post-house, then situ- 
ated at the end of the Kue St. Jacques. 

M. de Vallory approached the carriage. 

All goes well, Francis,” said the Queen to him. '^It 
seems to me that, if there had been an intention of stop- 
ping us, it would have been put into execution before now.” 

In speaking to M. de Valory, the Queen disclosed her 
countenance. 

The King likewise imprudently showed himself. 

The postmaster, Oudes, recognized him ; one of the spec- 
tators, whom curiosity had drawn to the spot, at once kfiew 
that it was the King. 

The postmaster saw the above-mentioned spectator dis- 
appear, and consequently feared some evil to the King. 

“ Sire,” said he, in a whisper, for heaven’s sake do not 
expose yourself^ or you are lost ! ” Then, speaking to the 
postilions, “ How now, idlers ! ” cried he. “ Is this the 
waj^ that you treat well-to-do travellers who pay thirty 
sous ? ” 

And he himself, to set an example to the postilions, put 
his shoulder to the work. 

The horses were put to, and the carriage was in readiness 
speedily. 

“ Oft* you go ! ” cried the postmaster. 

The first postilion wished to raise his horses into a gal- 
lop. They both fell, but gained their feet again on the ap- 
plication of the whip. They wished to upset the carriage. 
The two horses under the guidance of the second postilion 
fell in their turn. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 161 

They drew the postilion from under the horse he had 
been riding, with the loss of one of his boots. 

The horses picked themselves up, the postilion regained 
his boot, and, putting it on, he remounted his saddle. 

Off goes the carriage. 

The travelers breathe again. 

But as the postmaster had warned them of danger, in 
place of riding in front, M. de Valory took up his position 
by the side of the carriage. 

The fact of tiie horses having fallen one after the other, 
without any apparent reason, seemed to the Queen a pres- 
age of evil to come. 

As yet, however, they had escaped the consequencee of 
recognition. 

The man who witnessed the arrival of the berlin had ran 
to the Mayors house j but that official was a Royalist. 
However, the witness swore that he recognised the King 
and the other members of the royal family ; so the Mayor, 
driven into his last entrenchment, was forced to proceed 
forthwith to the Rue St. Jacques ; but, happily, when he 
arrived there, he found that the carriage had started some 
five minutes before. 

Passing through the gates of the city, and noticing the 
ardor with which the postilion urged on their steeds, the 
Queen, and Madame Elizabeth gave vent each to the same 
cry : — We are saved ! 

But at that very moment a man, arisen, as it were, sud- 
denly from the very bosom of the earth, passed on horse- 
back to the door of the carriage, and said, Your measures 
are badly taken ! You will be stopped ! ” 

It was never known who this man was. 

By good luck, they were distant only four leagues from- 
Pont-de-Somme-Vesles, where M. de Choiseul was awaiting 
them with his forty hussars. 

Perhaps they should have sent M. de Yalory to the rear, 
in order to prevent this. 

But the last warning had increased the Queen’s terrors, 
and she would not part with one of her defenders. 

They incited the postilions to greater speed. 

The four leagues were accomplished in an hour. 

They arrived at Pont-de-Somme-Vesles, a little hamlet, 
consisting of two or three houses. They pierced with their 
10 


162 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


eyes the wood which overshadowed the farm to the left ; and 
the trees which indicated the windings of the river on the 
right, formed, as it were, a curtain of green to hide the 
modest streamlet from the curious eye, but still no De 
Choiseul, no De Goguelot, no forty hussars were to be seen. 

On seeing that the place was desolate, the Queen uttered 
the words We are lost ! ” 

In the meantime, let us explain why the hussars were not 
at their post. 

At eleven o’clock M. de Choiseul, still accompanied by 
Leonard, in tears, who knew not where they were taking 
him, and who believed himself to be the victim of some un- 
justifiable violence, arrived at Pont-de-Somme-Yesles. 

The hussars, as yet, were not at their posts ; all around 
was tranquil. 

He alighted at the post-house, his example being followed 
by Leonard, who had the diamonds still concealed in his 
bosom, and asked for a private chamber in which to don his 
uniform. 

Leonard watched him j his cup of misery was filled to the 
brim. 

Now that M. de Choiseul had, as he believed, nothing to 
fear, he found time to pity him. 

My dear Leonard ! ” said he, it is time that you knew 
the whole truth.” 

‘^How the truth? Do I not, then, already know the 
truth ? ” 

You know a portion. It is now my duty to tell you the 
rest. You are devoted to your customers, are you not, my 
dear Leonard ? ” 

In life and death, M. le Comte.” 

Well, in two hours they will be here — in two hours they 
will be saved.” 

The hot tears coursed down poor Leonard’s cheeks, but 
this time they were tears of joy. 

‘‘ In two hours ? ” cried he, at last. Are you sure of 
it?” 

“ Yes ; they were to have left the Tuileries at eleven or 
half-past, in the evening ; they were to arrive at Chalons at 
mid-day ; and an hour, or, at most, an hour and a-half, is 
sufficient to 2over the four leagues from Chalons to this 
place. They will be here in an hour at the latest. I am 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


163 


awaiting a detachment of hussars, which should arrive here 
under the command of M. Goguelot.’’ 

Hearing a rumbling sound, M. de Choiseul put his head 
out of the window. 

Ah, there they are, coming from the direction of Cil- 
loy ! ” 

And, in fact, the hussars were, at the moment, on the 
point of entering the village. 

Come on ! — all is well ! said M. de Choiseul. 

And he waved his hat, making signs out of the window. 

A horseman approached at a gallop. 

M. dc Choiseul went down stairs to meet him. 

The two gentlemen met in the high road. 

The horseman, who was M. Goguelot, gave M. de Choiseul 
a packet from M. de Bouille. This packet contained six 
blank signatures, and a copy of the order which had been 
given by the King to every officer of the army whatsoever 
his grade, commanding them in all things to obey M. de 
Choiseul. 

The hussars rode up. M. de Choiseul ordered them to 
picket their horses, and caused rations of bread and wine to 
he served out to them. 

The news which M. Goguelot brought was had. All 
along his route, everybody had been in a state of expectation. 
The reports of the King’s flight, which had been dissemi- 
nated about for more than a year, had spread from Paris 
to the provinces ; and the sight of the different bodies of 
men arriving at Dun, Varennes, Clermont, and St. Mene- 
hould, had awakened suspicion. The tocsin had been sound- 
ed in a village by the side of the road. 

M. de Choiseul had ordered dinner for M. de Goguelot 
and himself. 

The two young men drew up to the table, leaving the de- 
tachment under the command of M. de Boudet. 

At the expiration of half an hour, M. de Choiseul fan- 
cied that he heard a noise outside the door. 

He went out. 

The peasants from the neighboring villages had begun to 
crowd round the soldiers. 

Whence came these peasants, in a country which was al- 
most a desert ? 

It was surmised that some days before the inhabitants of 


164 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


a tract of land, near Pont-de-Somme-Vesles, belonging to 
Madame d’Ebloeuf, had refused the payment of irredeemable 
rights, on the strength of which they had been threatened 
with military law. 

But the federation of 1790 had made Prance one great 
family ; and the peasants of the villages had promised the 
tenants of Madame d’Elboeuf to use their arms if any 
soldiers showed themselves in the vicinity. 

As we know, forty had arrived. 

On seeing them Madame d’Elboeuf^s tenants believed 
that they had come with hostile intentions against them ; 
so they sent messages to all the neighboring villages, im- 
ploring them to keep their promise. 

Those situate nearest arrived first, and that is how M. de 
Choiseul, on arising from table, found a turbulent throng 
of peasants surrounding the hussars. 

He believed that curiosity alone had drawn them thither, 
and, without paying any further attention to them, gained 
the most elevated part of the road, which runs in a straight 
line through the plain of Chalons to St. Menehould. 

A little further on than could be seen with the naked eye 
was the village itself. 

An hour slipped away. 

Two hours, three hours, four hours, followed in the track 
of the first. 

The fugitives ought to have arrived in one hour at 
Pont-de-Somme-Vesles ; and the time they had lost on the 
road made it half-past four, as we have said, before they 
arrived at Chalons. 

M. de Choiseul was anxious. 

Leonard was in despair. 

About three o’clock, the numbers of peasants increased ; 
their intentions became more hostile, and the tocsin began 
to sound. 

The hussars were, perhaps, more unpopular than any 
other corps in the army, on account of their supposed plun- 
dering propensities. The peasants provoked them by all 
sorts of insults and menaces, and sang under their very 
noses — 

“ The hussars are forlorn, 

And we laugh them to scorn.” 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


165 


Presently better informed people came up, and spread a 
report that the hussars had come, not to injure Madame 
d’Elboeuf’s tenants, but to escort the King and Queen. 

This was also a very serious matter. 

At about half-past four, M. de Choiseul and his hussars 
were so completely hemmed in, that the three officers coun- 
selled together as to what was best to be done. 

They agreed unanimously that it was impossible that 
they could hold out much longer. 

The number of peasants was augmented to about three 
hundred, many of whom were armed. 

If, by ill luck, the King and Queen arrived at this criti- 
cal juncture, forty men, supposing that each killed his 
adversary, would be insufficient to protect them. 

M. de Choiseul re-read his orders : — 

Manage in such a manner that the King^s carriage shall 
continue its progress without interruption.^^ 

But his presence and that of the forty men became an 
obstacle instead of a support. 

There was no doubt about it. Their best plan was to 
depart. 

But a pretext must be found. 

M. de Choiseul, in the midst of some five or six hundred 
gaping peasants who surrounded him, summoned the post- 
master. 

“ Monsieur,” said he, we are here for the purpose of 
escorting a treasure, but this treasure does not arrive. Do 
you know if any gold has been this last day or so to 
Metz ? ” 

“ This morning,” replied the postmaster, “ the diligence 
brought a hundred thousand crowns, and was escorted by 
two gendarmes.” 

If the postmaster had been prompted, he could not have 
spoken better. 

“ It was Kobin and me who escorted it,” cried a gen- 
darme, hidden among the crowd. 

Then M. de Choiseul, turning to M. Goguelot, said. 
Monsieur, the Ministry have preferred the ordinary mode 
of carriage. As a hundred thousand crowns have passed 
through here this morning, our further presence here is un- 
necessary. Trumpeter, sound boot and saddle, and we will 
be off.” 

The trumpeter obeyed. 


166 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


In a second, the hussars, who wished nothing better than 
to be off, were mounted. 

Gentlemen of the hussars, march. Form by fours, and 
proceed at a foot pace.” 

And he and his forty men left Pont-de-Somme-Vesles at 
five punctually by his watch. 

The detachment was to have fallen upon Varennes. He 
took the by-road in order to avoid St. Menehould, but lost 
his w'ay above Mofficourt. 

: The little troop hesitated for a moment, when a horse- 
man coming from Neuville saw the perplexity of M. de 
Choiseul, and finding that he was a Royalist and a gentle- 
man, asked if he could be of an}^ assistance to him. 

Indeed 3mu can,” replied M. de Choiseul. You can 
conduct us to Varennes b}’’ the Chalade.” 

Follow me, then,” cried the gentleman. 

And he placed himself at the head of the hussars. 

This gentleman was no other than M. de Malmy, and 
that is how it was that I met him on the Place Latry, 
between two officers whom I knew not — namely, M. de 
Choiseul and M. Goguelot. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

STILL IN PLIGHT. 

There was therefore, no escort awaiting the King at 
Pont-de-Somme-Vesles when he arrived there. 

But if there was no escort, there were likewise no peas- 
ants. The road was clear ; the King therefore changed 
horses without an obstacle, and started for St. Menehould. 

At St. Menehould, M. Dandoins awaited the King’s 
arrival with as much impatience as M. de Choiseul and 
M. Goguelot had ; and about midday he set out with his 
lieutenant on the road to Chalons, in the hopes of seeing 
some sign of his arrival. 

This road is one long descent from St. Menehould to 
Chalons. They cast their eyes for a length of two leagues 
on a straight line, traced, as it were, by a pencil, between 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


167 


two rows of trees, with uncultivated green patches of 
country around them. 

Nothing was visible on the road. 

M. Dandoins and his lieutenant returned to St. Mene- 
hould. 

Two hours afterward they again strolled along that samo 
road. 

To get to the barracks situated at the bottom of the 
Faubourg Fleurion, it was necessary to pass right through 
the town. 

They returned, as on the former occasion, without having 
seen anything. 

These in-comings and out-goings excited the attention 
of a population already alarmed. They perceived that the 
two officers had the appearance of being restless and 
uneasy. 

To the queries put them on the subject, they replied that 
they were awaiting a treasure which apparently was delay- 
ed, and that this delay gave rise to uneasiness. 

About seven o’clock in the evening, a courier, dressed in 
a chamois-leather vest, arrived, drew up at the post-house, 
and commanded horses for two carriages. 

The postmaster was Jean Baptiste Drouet. 

M. de Dandoins approached M. de Valory. 

Monsieur,” said he, in a whisper, “ you are preceding 
the King’s carriage, are you not ? ” 

Yes, monsieur,” replied the courier ; and let me add, 
that I am astonished to see you and your men in police- 
men’s hats.” 

We did not know the exact hour of the King’s arrival. 
Our presence annoys the people ; demonstrations of the 
most menacing character with regard to us have been made, 
and they have tried to entice away my men.” 

‘^Silence,” said M. de Valory; they hear what we are 
saying. Kejoin your men, sir, and try to keep them to 
their duty.” 

MM. de Valory and de Dandoins then separated. 

At the same moment the crackings of a whip were 
heard, and the two carriages crossed the Place de I’Hotel 
de Ville. 

They drew up in front of the post-house. 

One can easily recognise the house, then built about 
three years, and which bears upon its face the date 1788. 


168 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


Scarcely had the carriage stopped, when crowds of people 
surrounded them. 

One of the lookers-on asked M. Malden, who was 
descending from the box, “Who are the travellers who 
journey in this style ? 

“ Madame the Baronne de Korff,^’ replied de Malden. 

“What! another of the exiles who are sucking at the 
vitals of France?” murmured the spectator, discontent- 
edly. 

“ No ; this lady is a Russian, and, consequently, a 
stranger.” 

During this, M. de Dandoins, his policeman’s hat in his 
hand, approached the carriage-door, before which he stood, 
respectfully. 

“ Sir officer,” said the King, “how is it that I found no 
one at Pont-de-Somme-Yesles ?” 

“ I was asking myself, sire, how it was that you arrived 
without escort.” 

The sight of a commander of dragoons talking with the 
deepest respect to a sort of valet de chamhre, seated in the 
front seat of the carriage, redoubled the astonishment of 
the people, and began to change that astonishment rapidly 
into suspicion. 

Still, the King took no precaution to hide himself. 

At this moment, M. Drouet came out from the door of 
his house, and seeing the man who was talking to the com- 
mander of the dragoons, he cried, “Just heavens — the 
King !>” 

He had much the same expression of face as he had at 
the federation, and his general appearance was such that 
he was not easily disguised. 

A municipal officer was there ; his name was Farcy. 

Drouet touched him on the elbow. 

“ Do you recognize that man ? ” said he, pointing to the 
King. 

“ Yes,” replied the other. “ It is the King.” 

“ Call together the municipal council.” 

Then, running to the door of the house, “ Guillaume, 
Guillaume ! ” he cried. 

Guillaume, who was within, ran out to him. Drouet 
pointed out to him the King. 

“ That is he whom we have been expecting,” said he. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 169 

Meanwhile M. Earcy had run to the municipality, and 
there made his report. 

Drouet followed after him, and likewise entered the muni- 
cipal council chamber. 

Scarcely had he turned the corner of the street, than 
the carriages, which had been relayed in the twinkling of 
an eye, started off at a sharp trot. ^ 

A somewhat strange event accompanied their departure. 

Behind the carriage a sous-officer of dragoons, whom we 
have seen speaking to the King, notwithstanding his 
inferior rank, pushed on at a gallop, firing, as he did so, a 
pistol in the air. 

Without doubt, it was a signal ; but the citizens took ifc 
as a sign for hostilities, especially as, on hearing it, the 
dragoons rushed to their horses. 

At this pistol-shot, cries were heard. A man who was 
threshing in a barn on the left-hand side of the road, a 
little above the small bridge thrown over the Aisne, left 
the barn, and tried to stop the sous-officer with his flail. 

The officer drew his sabre, cut the flail in half, and 
passed on. 

During this time the municipal council had decided that 
some one should run after the royal carriages, and stop 
them. 

But who will do it ? ” asked the Mayor. 

“ I will,” replied M. Drouet. 

Other young men offered to accompany him ; but he had 
not at the post-house more than one horse of his own, with 
the exception of a little pony, which was for his friend 
Guillaume, on which he could count as well as he could on 
himself. Two other citizens seized horses, and determin- 
ing not to leave them, set out with them, or, at least, 
behind them. 

They started, amid shouts of encouragement from the 
whole town. 

Two hours after, the two citizens returned on their 
paltry hacks. They had not been able to keep up the 
pace. 

But M. Jean Baptiste Drouet, bearer of A Warrant 
from the Municipality to arrest the King^ and Citizen 
Guillaume, continued the chase. 

I underline the warrant given by the municipality fot 


170 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


the arrest of the King, because I have never seen mention 
made of it by any historian, and because, having seen the 
warrant in M. Drouet’s hand, I can speak positively with 
regard to the existence of the paper. 

I wish you to understand why I lay so much stress on 
the fact of the existence of a warrant It is because M. 
Jean Baptiste Drouet, sent by the municipality of St. 
Menehould to arrest the King and the royal family, is not 
the isolated fanatic, obeying a regicidal impulse, as the 
Royalist journals and histories would have it, but a citizen 
of unblemished character, who fulfilled but his duty in 
obeying the commands of the magistrates of his country. 

But to return to our tale. 

The royal carriage started, and MM. Drouet and Guil- 
laume in pursuit. M. Dandoins ordered his dragoons to 
mount, and follow. 

But the order was more easily given than executed. 

The pistol-shot fired by the sous-ofificer had found an 
echo in the hearts — or, rather, the imaginations of — of 
those who heard it. The National Guard armed themselves 
with their double-barrelled guns. A tumultuous and noisy 
mob gathered in front of the post-house — that is to say, on 
the very road that the dragoons would be obliged to follow, 
in order to come up with the royal carriages. 

M. Dandoins was about to spring into his saddle, when 
the municipal council commanded him to surrender on the 
spot at the Hotel de Ville. 

He did so, and was then ordered to give his name and to 
show his orders. 

I am named Dandoins,” replied he. I am a Chevalier 
of St. Louis, a captain in the 1st Regiment of Dragoon 
Guards, and there are the orders which I have received.” 

Suiting the action to the word, he placed on the table the 
following order : — 

On behalf of the King, T, Francois Claude Amour de 
Bouille, lieutenant-general of the King’s armies, &c. The 
captain of the 1st Regiment of Dragoons is ordered to 
march, with forty men of his regiment, on the 19th, from 
Clerinont to St. Menehould, where, on the 20th and 21st, 
he will await a convoy of money, which will be escorted by 
a detachment of the 6th Regiment of Hussars from Pont- 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


171 


de-Somme-Yesles, on the Chalons road. The dragoons and 
their horses will be lodged equally among the hotel-keepers. 
The captain will be reimbursed for all expenses incurred for 
the provender for the horses, and each dragoon will receive 
increased pay in place of his rations. 

De Bouille. 

‘^Metz, 14th June, 1791.” 

At this moment the cries of the people mounted to the 
chamber in which the council were assembled, interrogating 
M. Dandoins. These cries demanded that the dragoons 
should be disarmed. 

You hear, captain ? ” said the Mayor. It is needful, 
in order to tranquillize the people, that your men lay down 
their arms. Go down, and order them to do so.” 

“ I will do so, if you will give me a written authority,” 
replied M. Dandoins. 

The order was given, and at the command of 
M. Dandoins the arms of the dragoons, and the accoutre- 
ments of the horses, were carried into the Hotel de Ville. 

At the moment M. Dandoins and his lieutenant M. La 
Cour, reappeared at the door of the Hotel de Ville opening 
on the Place, the exasperation of the multitude reached a 
culminating point. Every voice cried, “He. is a traitor! 
He knew all ! He has imposed upon the municipality ! ” 

They conducted the two officers to the town prison. 

Let us now follow the royal carriages, and, as a matter of 
course, MM. Gillaume and Drouet, their pursuers. 

They had seen them start at full gallop by the Clermont 
route. 

At eight o’clock a courier arrived from M. de Choiseul. 

This courier was poor Leonard, with his cabriolet. 

He came to tell M. Daraas that he had left M. de 
Choiseul at Pont-de-Somme-Vesles, at half-past four, and 
that up to that time no courier had arrived. 

Leonard told him also the danger that M. Gorguelot, 
M. Boudet, and their forty hussars, had incurred. 

M. Damas ran no less risk. The same excitement pre- 
vailed everywhere. The sight of his soldiers had provoked 
murmurs. The hour for retreat approached, and he knew 
that it would be difficult to keep the men under arms, and 
the horses saddled, during the whole night, so manifest had 
the hostile demonstrations become. 


172 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


In this interval the cracking of postilions^ whips an- 
nounced from afar the arrival of the carriages. 

M. Bouille^s orders were to mount half an hour after the 
passage of the carriages, and to fall hack upon Montmedy, 
in passing by Varennes. 

M. de Damas rushed to the door, told the King what 
orders he had received from de Bouille, and asked him what 
his orders were. 

‘‘Let the carriages pass without making any remark,” 
replied the King, “ and follow with your dragoons.” 

During this time, incredible as it may appear, a discus- 
sion arose between the person charged with the payment of 
the postillion and the postmaster. 

It is a double post from St. Menehould to Varennes. 
They did not wish to pay more than single. Ten minutes 
were lost in this squabble, which estranged the people, who 
were helping. 

At last, the carriages set off. 

They could have been half a league distant when Drouet 
arrived. 

Above Islettes, he and Guillaume separated, Guillaume 
took the short cut by the wood, and thus gained a league ; 
while Drouet followed the road, striving to arrive at 
Clermont before the King or, if he could not succeed in 
that, at any rate to catch him up at Varennes. 

On the other hand, thanks to the advantage which the 
short cut gave him, Guillaume was sure to arrive at 
Varennes before the King. 

If the King took the ChMons route, Drouet would arrive 
at Verdun before him. 

Drouet arrived at Chalons, not in time to arrest the 
King, but in time to prevent the dragoons from following 
him. 

M. de Damas’s dragoons were on horseback. M. de 
Damas ordered them to march four deep, with their swords 
drawn in their hand ; but they stood motionless, thrusting 
their swords into their scabbards. 

At this moment, the municipal officers appeared. They 
commanded M. de Damas to order his men back to their 
barracks, as the hour for retreat had passed away. 

During this time, Drouet had changed his horse and 
started off at a gallop. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


173 


M. de Damas, who had not yet lost all hope of taking off 
his men, doubted to what end M. Drouet had set off. He 
called a dragoon, on whose fidelity he knew that he could 
depend ; ordered him to catch up Drouet ; stop him from 
following that road ; and, if he resisted to slay him. 

The name of the dragoon was Legache. 

Without making any objection, with the passive obe- 
dience of a soldier — perhaps with the warm devotion of a 
Royalist, — he darted off in pursuit of Drouet. 

Scarcely had he started, when, as you have already been 
told, the council commanded M. de Damas to withdraw his 
men into barracks. 

But instead of obeying, like M. Dandoins, M. de Damas 
drew his sword, struck his spurs into the belly of his horse, 
dashed into the midst of the crowd, and cried, All who 
love me, follow ! ” 

Three men alone replied to this appeal, and dashed after 
M. Damas, at a gallop, down the hill of Clermont. 

Drouet was three-quarters of a league in advance of them, 
hut he was pursued by a brave, determined, and well- 
mounted man. 

Only on leaving Clermont the road splits — one part 
going to Verdun, the other to Varennes. 

It was not probable that the King would go to Varen- 
nes, where he had no relays ; if that route had been indi- 
cated, it was simply to throw pursuers off the scent. 

Anyhow, Guillaume would be at Varennes ; and as he 
was a native of that place, he would have plenty of influ- 
ence. 

Drouet galloped, therefore, along the road to Verdun. 

Scarcely had he gone two hundred yards, when he met a 
postilion, who was leading some horses. 

^^Have you seen a large berlin and a cabriolet going 
past, one with six horses and the other with three ? 

‘‘ No, M. Drouet,” replied the postilion. 

The King had therefore gone to Varennes. 

Drouet got on the road to Varennes by cutting across 
the country, after having leapt a ditch. 

This error, in all probability, saved him. 

The dragoon, Lagache — who knew that the King had 
gone to Varennes, and not to Verdun, and who saw Drouet 
take the road to Verdun, — did not think it worth while to 


174 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


pursue him much longer; and when ho saw him change 
his route, it was too late — he was a good half-hour in 
advance of him. 

In the midst of all this, the King, continuing his route, 
had left M. Dandoins and his dragoons behind him, at St. 
Menehould, and M. de Damas and his at Clermont. 

The one and the other ought to be pushing on behind 
him ; and in all probability there was nothing to fear in 
the localities through which he W’as now travelling. 

This reflection brought tranquillity to the travellers, who, 
between Neuvilly and Varennes, find oblivion in sleep. 

We have seen how M. Valory, not finding relaj^s at his 
post, had thought fit to await the illustrious travellers, in 
order to consult with them. 

We have seen the Queen descend from the berlin, take 
the arm of M. Valory, and interrogate M. Prt^fontaine. 

We have seen M. Pr^fontaine advance, trembling, to the 
door of the King’s carriage, answer his interrogatories, 
return to his house, shut his door, and afterwards open his 
window. 

We have seen M. Drouet appear like a phantom from 
the midst of the shadow, forbidding the postilions to pro- 
ceed, and rushing through the Hue des Religieuses on to 
the Place de Latry. 

We have seen the royal berlin stopped, and the occupants 
forced to descend, and accept the hospitality of M. Sauce, 
who ushered into a chamber on the first floor of his house 
the King, the Queen, Madame Elizabeth, Madame de 
Tourzel, Madame Boyale, and the young Dauphin. The 
windows of this chamber were separated from the windows 
of mine by a passage, some seven or eight feet in breadth 
only. 

We have also heard the noise at the top of the Rue 
Basse Cour, which was made by the arrival of the forty 
hussars of M. Goguelot and M. de Choiseul, in the midst 
of whom I recognised M. de Malmy, who had, without 
doubt, served as their guide. 

We can, therefore — a light being thrown on the past, — 
resume the thread of our story, without fear of complica- 
tion or confusion. 


LOVE AND LIBEETT. 


175 


CHAPTER XXX. 

WHAT HAPPENED IN THE GROCER’s LITTLE SHOP. 

At the end of some minutes, during which they had 
been parlejdng, M. Goguelot and M. de Choiseul contrived 
to get admitted to the King. 

M. Sauce, who, after he had conducted his guests to the 
chamber in which they were confined, had descended to 
get the key, remounted the stairs, followed by M. Goguelot 
and M. de Choiseul. 

On seeing M. Goguelot, the King joyously clapped his 
hands, for he was the only person that he knew whom he 
had as yet seen. He was, without doubt, the precursor of 
assistance. 

Behind M. Goguelot, he recognised M. de Choiseul. 

Other footsteps were heard on the staircase — they were 
those of M. de Damas. 

The three officers, as soon as they entered, bent looks of 
inquii around them. 

This is what they saw on entering, and what I saw from 
my window. 

A narrow room, in the midst of which was a cask, which 
served as a table ; on that table was placed some paper and 
some glasses. In a corner stood the King and Queen ; by 
the window were Madame Elizabeth and Madame Royale ; 
in the background, the Dauphin, overcome with fatigue, 
was sleeping on a bed, at the foot of which was Madame de 
Tourzel ; at 'the door were stationed the two femmes de 
chambre — Madame de Neuville and Madame de Brunier, 
acting as sentinels — or, rather, two women armed with 
forks. 

The .first word that the King uttered was, “Well, gen- 
tlemen, when do we start ? ” 

“ When it pleases your Majesty.” 

“ Give your commands, sire,” said M. de Choiseul. “ I 
have with me forty hussars; but lose no time. We must 
act before the citizens have an opportunity of bribing my 
men.” 

“Well, gentlemen, descend, and clear the way; but 
mind, no violence.” 


176 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


The young men went down. 

The moment that M. de Goguelot had his hand on the 
street door, the National Guard summoned the hussars to 
dismount. 

‘‘ Hussars,” cried M. de Goguelot, “ remain in your sad- 
dles.” 

Wherefore ? ” queried the officer commanding the 
National Guard. 

To protect the King,” replied M. de Goguelot. 

“ Good ! ” returned the officers ; we can take care of 
him without you.” 

A hundred voices at the same time cried, “Yes, yes, 
yes ! Make the hussars dismount ! It is is our business, 
and not the business of strangers, to protect the King ! 
Dismount, hussars — dismount ! ” 

M. de Damas slipped through the crowd, and rejoined 
the three or four men who had been faithful to him. 

M. de Goguelot exchanged signals with M. de Malmy, 
and in company with M. de Choiseul again ascended to the 
King’s chamber. Both addressed the Queen, as they knew 
that it M'as her head that planned. 

Madame,” said M. de Goguelot, “ it is no use thinking 
of proceeding in the carriages; but there is a way of 
safety.” 

«What?” 

“Will you mount a horse, and set out with the King? 
He will take charge of the Dauphin. The bridge is barri- 
caded, but at the bottom of the Bue Jean the river is ford- 
able. With our forty hussars we will pass. In any case, 
make a quick resolution. Our hussars are already drinking 
with the people ; in another quarter of an hour they will 
he brothers.” 

The Queen drew back ; that iron heart failed her at that 
critical moment. She again became a woman ; she feared 
a struggle, a skirmish — perhaps a bullet. 

“ Speak to the King, messieurs,” said she ; “ it is he 
who should decide on this plan ; it is he who should com- 
mand ; it is for me but to follow.” 

She then added, timidly, “ After all, it cannot be long 
before M. de Bonilla arrives. 

The gardes du corps were there ready to attempt any- 
thing. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


17T 


M. de Yalory said, in his and the name of all his com- 
rades, “ Her Majesty knows that she can command. We 
are ready to die for her.” 

M. de Goguelot and M. de Choiseul chimed in. 

M. de Damas is below,’ ’ said M. de Choiseul ; “ he told 
ns to tell your Majesty that he had but three or four dra- 
goons, hut that he could count on their fidelity as on his 
own.” 

‘^Let us set out, sire — let us set out, since the Queen 
places herself in your hands.” 

If the King replied yes, there was still hope. 

‘‘Messieurs,” asked the King, “can you promise me that 
in the struggle which must take place as a consequence of 
our departure, no ball will strike the Queen, my sister, or 
my children ?• ” 

A sigh passed the lips of the King’s defenders. They 
felt him giving way in their hands. 

“ Let us reason coolly,” said the King. “ The municipal 
council do not refuse to let me go. The annoyance is, that 
we are compelled to spend the night here ; but before day- 
break, M. de Bouill^ will be acquainted with the situation 
in which we are. He is at Stenay. Stenay is but eight 
leagues from here ; two hours will take one there, and 
another two suffice to bring back a message. M. de Bouille 
cannot fail to be here in the morning, then shall we depart 
without danger or violence.” 

As he uttered these words, without announcing themselves, 
or asking the permission of the King to be admitted, the 
municipal council entered the room. 

The decision that they had arrived at was brief and pre- 
cise. 

The people strongly objected to the King’s continuing his 
route, and had resolved to send a courier to the National 
Assembly to know its sentiments. 

In fact, a citizen of Varennes, an M. Maugin, surgeon by 
profession, had started at full speed for Paris. 

M. de Goguelot saw that there was not an instant to lose ; 
he dashed from the house, and found M. de Mahny at the 
door. 

“Monsieur,” he said, “you live here, therefore you 
know this part of the country. A man, come what will, 
must set out for Stenay to advise M. de Bouill^ of the pre- 
11 


178 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


dicament in which the King is placed, and return with a 
sufficient force to rescue him.’’ 

“ I will go myself,” said M. de Malmy. 

And sticking his spurs into his horse, he set off at a 
gallop. 

At M. Gerhaut’s door, he saw a file of National Guards, 
who commanded him to stop. 

“ All very well,” replied M. de Malmy j “ hut I intend 
to go on.” 

“ Not you, more than another ! ” cried an officer, seizing 
his horse by the bridle. 

“ If you advance another step,” said M. Roland, the 
commander of the National Guard, cocking a pistol, “ I 
will shoot you.” 

M. de Malmy, without reply, spurred his horse right on 
to him. 

M. Roland fired off the pistol so close that the flame 
blinded M. de Malmy’s horse, at the same time as the bul- 
let passed through the fleshy part of the horseman’s arm. 

The frightened animal reared, and fell hack upon big 
master. 

From the chamber where I was engaged in v^atching the 
King, I heard the pistol-shot, the fall of the horse and 
man, and the scream of a woman. 

1 recognised the voice of Mdlle. Sophie. I dashed down 
stairs, and arrived in time to see her throw herself on the 
breathless, and, as she thought, dead body of M. de Malmy. 

“ Ren^, R4n4 ! ” she cried. Help me — oh, help me ! ” 

I rushed out of the house, took M. de Malmy in my 
arms, and, at the moment when he tried to stand, I took 
him into the house, and laid him on ]\1. Gerhaut’s bed. 

He is dead — he is dead ! They have killed him, the 
wretches!” cried the unhappy and despairing girl, who was 
covered with the blood which had flowed from his wound. 

At this moment, M. de Malmy opened his eyes. 

“ He is not dead, Mdlle. Sophie,” cried I. 

“ Oh ! ” said she. 

And she threw herself prostrate on the bed. 

“ Leave me — leave me I” said M. de Malmy, making an 
effort to lift himself up. I must go and seek M. de Bou- 
ille.” 

Pain and weakness compelled him to fall back again. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


179 


“ In the name of heaven, stay there, Alphonse ! ” cried 
Mdlle. Sophie. “ Do not move, or you will uselessly throw 
away your life. You owe me somewhat; grant me that 
favor.” 

must,” said the young man. “I think that my leg 
is broken.” 

“ Rene, Rene ! I pray, I implore you, my friend — my 
brother — run for a surgeon ! ” 

“ Immediately ! ” said I, dashing out into the street. 

But it was impossible to move. 

Tlie crowd had become something fearful. 

Hussars ! ” cried M. de Goguelot, “ are you for the 
King or the nation ? ” 

They all replied, For the nation ! ” 

«The others?” 

“ For the King — for the King ! ” they cried out, in Ger- 
man. 

“ Do you hear them ? ” said M. Drouet. They are 
strangers — they are Germans — that is to say, enemies.” 

No, sir,” cried the officer ; “ it is a Frenchman, who, 
in good French, says to you, “Make way, in the name of 
the King ! ’ ” 

“And I reply to you, in better French, if your hussars 
do not lay down their arms, we will fire on them, and not 
one shall leave Varennes alive. Soldiers, present arms — 
and, gunners, to j^our pieces ! ” 

Then, stepping two paces forward, he said to M. Gogue- 
lot, “ Take care, sir. I have sighted you with my gun.” 

“ Vive la nation ! ” cried the hussars, as they saw the 
musket-barrels pointed at them, with the matches burning 
brightly in the obscurity, and the two little pieces of cannon 
placed in battery at the bottom of the Rue St. Jean. 

At this moment, several National Guards sprang upon 
M. Goguelot’s horse, snatched the rider from the saddle, 
and dashed him head-foremost into the road, where he lay 
for a moment or so, completely stunned. 

They treated M. Damas and M. de Choiseul, who 
appeared on the doorstep at that moment, in the same 
fashion. 

In the midst of this struggle, I set out for the Place 
Latry, by way of the Rue I’Horloge. When I got there, I 
found that M. Maugin had started for Paris, by wish of 
the municipality, at full speed. 


180 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


I ran to the house of another doctor of less skill than 
M. Maugin — a M. Saulnier — and brought him to the Rue de 
la Basse Cour, where the hussars were drinking and fra- 
ternizing with the National Guard. 

M. de Malmy was wounded in the shoulder by* a ball 
which had traversed the deltoid muscles. His leg was not 
broken, but his knee was badly sprained. 

Mdlle. Gerbaut, who feared that the condition of the 
wounded man would not be improved by his remaining on 
the ground floor in direct communication with the street, 
begged us to carry M. de Malmy into a chamber w’here the 
surgeon could pay, without inconvenience, all the cares 
necessary to a man in his condition. 

I assisted M. Saulnier — a sufficiently difficult job — to 
carry a man wdio could use neither his left arm nor his 
right leg. Afterw^ards, as I saw that my presence was not 
welcome to Mdlle. Sophie, and as I felt no particular in.ter- 
est in the wounded man, I retired, so as not to lose a single 
scene of the drama which was being played out before my 
eyes, and which was nothing less than a duel between a 
King and a nation. 


CHAPTER XXXL 

THE RETURN OP ROYALTY IN ARREST. 

In the midst of the tumult which was produced by the 
disarming of M. de Choiseul and M. de Damas, and the 
cries of “Vive la nation ! shouted out by the hussars, to 
the great delight of the people, M. de Goguelot, profiting 
by a moment of inattention on the part of his guards, 
rushed up-stairs, and, all bleeding as he was, entered the 
chamber of the King. 

His head had been cut open by the fall, but he did not 
feel the w^ound. 

The appearance of the chamber had changed. It had 
become a prison. 

Marie Antoinette, who was in reality the strength and 
life of the family, was overwhelmed. She had heard the 
cries, the shots, and she saw M. de Goguelot return all cov- 
ered with blood. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


181 


The King, standing upright, prayed M. Sauce, the 
grocer, to assist them ; as if he had the power, even had 
he wished to do so. 

The Queen, seated on a stool between two packages of 
candles, likewise implored his assistance. 

But with brutal and petty selfishness, he replied, 
should like to be abl.e to serve you, certainly ; but if you 
think of the King, I think of M. Sauce.” 

The Queen turned aside, shedding tears of rage. 

She had never been so humbled before. 

The daj’- began to dawn. 

The crowd filled the street, the Place de la Rue Neuve, 
and the Place Latry. 

All the citizens cried from their windows, “ To Paris— 
to Paris — to Paris with the King ! ’’ 

Alas ! to show himself — he was to appear no longer, as 
on the 6th of October, on the balcony of the marble court, 
but at the windows of a grocer’s house. 

The King had fallen into a state of torpor. 

The cries redoubled. 

Pive or six people had seen, or rather had caught a 
glimpse, of the King; the others wished to inspect him 
thoroughly. 

At that period, when it took a diligence six or seven 
days to go to Paris, to have seen the King was a thing to 
talk about. Each one had formed an imaginary portrait 
of him for him or herself. 

Therefore the astonishment was intense when Louis the 
Sixteenth showed himself with swollen eyes, and proved to 
that multitude a thing which they did not before believe — 
namely, that a king may be fat, pale, bloated — with dull 
eyes, hanging lips, a bad peruke, and a gray suit of 
clothes. 

The crowd believed that they were being deceived, and 
growled accordingly. 

Afterwards, when they knew that it was the King, Oh, 
heavens ! ” said they. “ Poor man ! ” 

Pity having once seized them, their hearts opened, and 
they began to shed tears. 

Long live the King ! ” cried the crowd. 

If Louis XVI had profited by that moment — if he had 
prayed that coMcourse of people to help him and his child- 


182 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


ren, — perhaps they would have passed him and the royal 
family over the barricaded bridge, and delivered them into 
the hands of the hussars. 

He took no advantage of that pity and sorrow. 

An example was given of the commiseration which the 
royal family inspired. 

Sauce had an aged mother — a woman of some eighty 
years of age. She was born in the reign of Louis XIV, 
and was a Koyalist. She entered the chamber ; and seeing 
the King and Queen bowed down with sorrow, and the 
children sleeping on the bed, which had never been destin- 
ed for such a mournful honor, she fell on her knees beside 
it, repeated a prayer, and, turning towards the Queen, 
Madame,” said she, “ will you allow me to kiss the hands 
of the two innocents ? ” 

The Queen bowed her head, in token of assent. 

The good woman kissed their hands, and left the room, 
sobbing, as if her heart would break. 

The Queen was the only one who did not sleep. 

The King, who had need, whatever his preoccupation of 
mind might be, to eat and sleep well, having neither ate 
nor slept to his satisfaction, was distracted. 

About half-past six, M. Deslon was announced. 

M. Deslon had arrived from Dun with about a hundred 
men. 

He had found the Hue de I’Hospital barricaded ; had 
held a parley; and demanding admission to the presence 
of the King, was accorded permission to visit him. 

He informed them how, at the sound of the tocsin, he 
had hurried on ; and that M. de Bouille, warned by his son 
and M. de Kaigecourt, would, without doubt, arrive in a 
short time. 

The King, however, seemed as if he did not hear him. 

Three times M. Deslon repeated the same thing, and 
rather impatiently the last time. 

“ Sire,” said he, “ do you not hear me ? ” 

What do you wish, monsieur ? ” said the King, as if 
starting from a reverie. 

I ask your commands for M. de Bouille, sire ! ” 
have no more commands to give, monsieur — I am a 
prisoner.’” 

But, at least, sir — ” 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


183 


That he does what he can for me.” 

M. Deslon retired, without being able to obtain another 
answer. 

In fact, the King was indeed a prisoner. 

The tocsin had completed its dismal task. Every village 
had sent its contingent. Four or five thousand men 
encumbered the streets of Varennes. 

About seven in the morning, two men arriving by the 
Clermont road, and bestriding horses flecked with foam, 
pushed their way through the multitude. 

The shouts of the people announced something new to 
the King. 

Soon the door opened, and admitted an officer of the Ka- 
tional Guard. 

It was the same Rayon, who, whilst snatching a moment’s 
rest at Chalons, sent on an express to St. Menehould. 

He entered the royal chamber fatigued, excited, almost 
mad, without a cravat, and with his hair unpowdered. 

“ Ah, sire,” said he, in a hoarse voice — “ our wives, our 
children ! They slaughter them at Paris, sire ; you will 
not go much further. The interest of the State — ” 

And he fell, almost fainting, into an arm-chair. 

Well, sir,” said the Queen, taking his hand, and show- 
ing him the Dauphin and Madame Royale sleeping on the 
bed, am I not a mother, too ? ” 

“ In short, sir,” said the King, “ what have you to an- 
nounce to me ? ” 

Sire, a decree of the Assembly.” 

Where is it ? ” 

“ My comrade has it.” 

• “ Your comrade ? ” 

The officer made a sign to open the door. 

One of the gardes du corps opened it, and they saw M. 
de Romeuf leaning against the window of the ante-chamber, 
and weeping. 

He came forward, with downcast ej^^es. 

The Queen started at sight of him. 

It was the same young man who had accompanied 
M. Lafayette in the visit he had paid the King just a quarter 
of an hour before he started. 

Ah, monsieur ! is it you ? ” said the Queen. “ I could 
never have believed it.” 


184 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


It was she who should have blushed before him, and she 
tried to make him blush. 

M. de Romeuf held in his hands the decree of the Assem- 
bly. 

The King snatched it from him, cast his eyes over it, and 
cried, “ There is no longer a King in France ! 

The Queen took it in her turn, read it, and returned it to 
the King. 

The King re-read it, and then placed it on the bed where 
his children slept. 

Ko — no ! ” cried the Queen, exasperated, furious, mad 
with hate and anger ; “ I do not wish that infamous paper 
to defile my children.’’ 

“Madame,” at last said Komeuf, “you have just re- 
proached me for being charged with this mission. Is it 
not better that I should have undertaken the task than one 
who would have borne witness with regard to transports of 
passion ? ” 

There was, in fact, at this action of the Queen’s, a terri- 
ble murmur among the spectators. 

The Queen had crumpled up the decree, and dashed it on 
the floor. 

M. de Choiseul, who had regained his liberty, and who, 
at the moment, entered the chamber, accompanied by two 
messengers, picked up the decree, and placed it on the 
table. 

The Queen appreciated his intention, and thanked him 
with a look. 

“ At least, sir,” said she, addressing M. de Komeuf, “ I 
hope that you will do all you can for M. de Choiseul, M. de 
Damas, and M. de Goguelot when we are gone.” 

In fact, the Queen well understood that go she must. 

It was seven o’clock in the morning, and M. de Bouilld 
had not put in an appearance. 

The peasants of the villages round Varennes continued 
to pour into the town, armed with guns, pitchforks, and 
scythes, and each cried louder than the other, “ To Paris ! 
to Paris ! ” 

The carriage was in readiness. 

The King made the most of each little obstacle, counting 
each moment, awaiting Bouill4. 

At last, it was necessary to make a move. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


185 


The King rose first. 

The Queen followed his example. 

One of her women — whether naturally, or whether as an 
artifice, to gain time — fainted. 

They may cut me into pieces if they will,” said the 
Queen, ^‘hut I will not leave without one who has the 
misfortune to he my friend.” 

As you will — stay if you like,” said a man of the 
people, At any rate, I will take the Dauphin.” 

He took the royal child in his arms, and stepped towards 
the door. 

The Queen seized the Dauphin from him, and descended 
the stairs, blushing. 

All the family were filled with poignant anxiety. On 
arriving in the street, Madame Elizabeth perceived that 
half of the Queen’s hair had turned gray ; the other half 
was to grow' gray at the Conciergerie in a second night of 
agony, which was not, perhaps, more terrible than that 
which we have recounted. 

They got into the carriage ; the three gardes du corps 
mounted on the box. 

M. de Goguelot, in the hope of bringing succor, had 
found means of escaping through the little passage situate 
at the back of the house of M. Sauce. 

M. de Choiseul and M. de Damas were conducted to the 
city prison, where M. de Eomeuf caused himself to be 
imprisoned with them, for the sake of protecting them 
more efficiently. 

At last, after having exhausted every possible means of 
delay, the carriage started, escorted by the National Guard, 
under the command of M. Signemont, by the hussars of 
M. de Choiseul, which had been sent to protect his flight, 
and by more than four thousand citizens of Varennes and 
its suburbs, armed with guns, pitchforks, and scythes. 

The carriage of the King did not, as some historians say, 
pass the house of the grocer. Sauce ; that was the histori- 
cal limit of the fatal journey. 

The moment that the carriage moved, I felt great doubt 
— or, rather, great remorse. 

The catastrophe of the arrest of the King had brought 
in its train an event which, though I have but mentioned 
it in the place it occupied relatively to that arrest, influ- 
enced in a strange manner the whole of my liffe. 


186 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


One can readily understand that I speak of M. de Mal- 
my’s wound ; of the impression that that wound produced 
on Mdlle. Sophie, and of the involuntary avowal that, on 
her part, she had made to me. 

I had a deep affection for Sophie. This affection, more 
than fraternal, had a spice of jealousy in it ; although I 
must do the poor girl the justice to say that from the 
moment that she perceived my nascent love, she had done 
all she could to nip it in the bud, by telling me that she 
could never be anything more than a sister to me. I 
always had the suspicion — I will not say that my rival, for 
there was no real rivalry, was M. de Malmy. 

This time I could no longer doubt it, and I felt it impos- 
sible to remain under the same roof with him. Not only 
because Sophie loved him and he loved Sophie, but because 
I knew that he was the origin of all the misery and unhap- 
piness that was gradually wearing her away. 

As soon as I saw the King ready to set out, and the car- 
riage about to move on to Paris, I bade adieu to M. Ger- 
baut, without telling him that I did not think of returning 
to Varennes, and started off without having the courage to 
see Sophie, whom however, I unexpectedly found in my 
road, barring up the corridor. 

What, Mdlle. Sophie ! ” 

She threw herself, weeping, on to my neck. 

'‘Each one has his destiny, my good Ilen4,” said she. 
" Mine is to suffer. I shall accomplish it.” 

“ Shall I always be your brother ? ” asked I, weeping 
myself. 

“ Ah, yes ! And if ever I have need of you, I will show 
you that I am your sister, by coming to you for assistance.” 

“ Heaven guard you, Mdlle. Sophie,” cried I, withdraw- 
ing myself from her embrace. 

“ And you, also — heaven bless you, Rene ! ” 

And I heard the sobs which followed these* words even as 
far as the door which opened into the street. 

I took my place at the door of the Kiiig’s carriage, mak- 
ing a signal to MM. Drouet and Guillaume, who were on 
horseback, with the intention of preceding the carriages, in 
order to make way for, and protect them. 

What was M. de Bouilld doing at this time? We will 
tell you in the following chapter. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


187 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

WHAT M. DE BOUILLE DID IN THE MEANTIME. 

M. DE Bouille was at Dun, where he had passed the 
night in a state of mortal disquietude. 

It was the advanced post of his watch. 

At three o’clock, having received no news, he proceeded to 
S ten ay. 

At Stenay he was in the centre of his forces, and was 
able to act with greater facility, having at his disposal a 
great number of men. 

From four to five o’clock he was successively joined by 
M. de Rohrig, M. de Raigecourt, and by his son. 

He then knew all. 

But M. de Bouille could but little depend on his men. 
He was surrounded by hostile villagers, as he called them— 
that is to say, patriotic. He was menaced by Metz, by 
Verdun, and by Stenay. It was his fear of Stenay that 
had caused him to quit Dun. 

The Royal German was the sole regiment on which he 
could depend. It was necessary to keep up their loyalty. 

M. de Bouilld and his son Louis sat themselves to the 
work body and soul. 

A bottle of wine and a louis per man settled the affair. 

But it took two hours to arm and set out. 

At last, he started ; but at seven o’clock, just at the time 
when the King got into the carriage. 

In two hours he covered the eight leagues which separa- 
ted him from Varennes. 

On the road he met a hussar. 

» Well ? ” 

“ The King is arrested.” 

We know it. What then ? ” 

He has just set out from Varennes.” 

Where goes he ?” 

To Paris.” 

Bouille did not give himself time to reply. 

He dashed his spurs into the flanks of his horse. 

His regiment followed him. 


188 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


Varennes saw the regiment descend like a waterspout 
amongst its vines,” to quote the language of i\iQ proces 
verbal. 

When he arrived at the Place du Grand Monarque, the 
King had started more than an hour. 

He acted so as to lose no time. The Rue de PHopital 
was barricaded ; the bridge was barricaded. They made a 
detour round the town ; they crossed the river by the ford 
at the Boucheries, in order to take up a favorable position 
on the Clermont road, to attack the escort. 

The order was given, and the manoeuvre accomplished. 

The river was crossed. 

A hundred steps more, and they would he on the road. 

But the Moulin Canal was on their way — six feet deep, 
and impossible to ford. 

It was necessary to stop and march hack. 

For an instant, they held the idea of fording the river at 
St. Gengoulf, taking the Rue St. Jean, passing through 
Varennes and falling on the rear of the escort. 

But the dragoons were fatigued ; the horses rebelled at 
every step. It would be necessary to tight a way through 
Varennes, and to fight to get to the King. 

They said that the garrison of Verdun were on the 
march, with some cannon. 

Their courage failed them. They felt that all was lost. 

M. de Bouille, weeping with rage, dashed his sword into 
its sheath, and ordered a retreat. 

The inhabitants of the high town saw him and his men 
standing there for an hour, unable to make up their minds 
to return. 

Eventually he and his men took the route to Dun, and 
disappeared in the distance. 

Tl>e King continued his way — the way of the Cross. 

After the arrest of M. Dandoins and his lieutenant, an 
officer of the National Guard, Citizen Legay, had estab- 
lished under the trees at the angle of the Rue de la Post 
au Bois and the Rue du Marais a post of National Guards, 
picked men, and all ordered to fire on any one entering or 
leaving the city at a gallop, without responding to the chal- 
lenge of the sentinels. 

Some minutes after these orders had been given, a 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


189 


report was circulated that the hussars of Pont-de-Somme- 
Vesles had gone round the town, and that Drouet and 
Guillaume ran a great risk of falling into their hands. 

M. Legay then asked for two volunteers to go with him 
on the road, and pick up what information they could with 
regard to Drouet and Guillaume. 

Two gendarmes. Collet and Pointe, offered themselves, 
and all three set out on their voyage of discovery. 

On the road they met the two citizens of St. Menehould, 
who had started on sorry hacks, and been unable to keep 
up the chase. They learnt from them that no accident had 
happened to the two messengers. Anxious to be the bear- 
ers of this good news, they put their horses to the gallop, 
and, forgetting the orders given by Legay, omitted to 
answer the challenge of the sentinels in ambuscade. 

The sentinels fired. Two of the horsemen fell ; one 
dead, and the other wounded. 

Legay received five or six shots in the arm and hand. 

The same day that the King repassed St. Menehould, the 
slain gendarme was buried. 

The King, on arriving, found the church hung with black, 
and the whole town prepared to follow the body to its last 
home. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE TURNS UP. 

Nothing important passed between Varennes and St. 
Menehould. The illustrious prisoners, starting at every 
new noise, lost in a measure, as they approached the latter 
town, every hope of succor. 

The first thing they encountered was a sort of rebuke 
from the dead. Of course, I allude to the interment of the 
man shot in the evening by the sentinels. 

The royal carriages stopped in order to allow the funeral 
procession to pass. Two kings found themselves face to 
face with each other — a living majesty and the King of 
Death. The living King recognised the power of King 
Death, and bowed down before him. 


190 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


St. Menehould was crowded. The National Guard pour- 
ed in from all points, those from Chalons coming in public 
or private vehicles. In fact, the affluence of people was 
such that they feared a lack of provisions. 

In the midst of all these people coming and going, I rec- 
ognised, mounted on a little pony, M. Dampierre, our old 
chasseur of the Forest of Argonne. He knew me, and 
came to me, trying to force the line of guards on duty at 
the side of the gates. 

It was I who repulsed him, because he did not count on 
my resistance. 

“ Pardon, M. le Comte,” said I ; you cannot pass ! ” 
Why can I not pass ? ” asked he. 

Because it is ordered that none shall be allowed to ap- 
proach the King’s carriage.” 

Who gave that order ? ” 

Our Captain, M. Drouet.” 

“ A revolutionist ! ” 

“ Possibly so, M. le Comte ; but he is our commander, and 
we are bound to obey him.” 

“ Is it forbidden to cry ^ Vive le Koi ? ” 

No, M. le Comte ; we are all Eoyalists.” 

M de Dampierre lifted his hat as high as his length of 
arm would permit him, raised himself in his stirrups, and 
cried Vive le Hoi ! ” 

The King put his head out of the window, and without 
any expression of gratitude or remembrance, bowed to him, 

M. de Dampierre retreated out of the crowd with trouble, 
being obliged to make his horse go backwards. I remem- 
ber him as well as if the events occurred but yesterday. 
He wore gray trousers, long riding boots, a white waistcoat, 
a three-cornered hat, trimmed with gold lace. As usual 
with him, he carried, slung over his shoulder, a little single- 
barrelled gun. 

I lost sight of him. I fancied that he took the direction 
of the Rue de I’Abreuvoir. 

During this time, the Mayor and members of the muni- 
cipality had advanced as far as the bridge of the Aisne, sit- 
uate at the extremity of the Porte au Bois, to meet the 
royal family. 

A municipal officer then took occasion to speak, and to 
tell the King what alarms his flight had caused in France. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 191 

Louis XVI was contented to reply, with an ill-tempered 
air, “ I never intended to leave my kingdom.” 

The crowd was so great that we took half an hour to go 
five-hundred yards. 

About half-past eleven, the King mounted the steps of 
the Hotel de Ville, his garments covered with dust, and his 
face altered and careworn. 

The Queen dressed in black. She had changed her robe 
at M. Sauce’s, and held the Dauphin by the hand. 

Louis XVI and his children were hungry. 

As for the Queen, in the same manner, as she cared not 
to sleep, she now seemed to care not to eat. 

A breakfast had been prepared through the forethought 
of the municipal council, but as they were a long time serv- 
ing it, a gendarme named Lapointe brought some cherries 
in his hat for Madame Eoyale. 

The royal family had likewise need of rest. 

The Mayor, M. Dupuis de Dammartin, offered them hos- 
pitality ; they accepted it j only M. Dupuis de Dammartin 
observed to the King that it would be just as well if the 
Queen and the Dauphin showed themselves to the people. 

The King made no difficulty. He showed himself first. 
Afterwards the Queen appeared in her turn, holding the 
Dauphin in her arms. The window of the Hotel de Ville 
— the only one which had a balcony — was so narrow that 
the King and Queen could not both show themselves at the 
same time. 

A municipal officer then announced to the people that the 
King, being fatigued, intended to honor the citizens of St. 
Menehould by sleeping within their walls. 

The carriages had already been taken to the stables, and 
the news of a halt for twenty-four hours was not less agree- 
able to us, who had been marching seven or eight leagues 
under a burning sun, than it was to the royal family, when 
the National Guards from the adjacent towns and villages, 
who filled the hotels and caffis, rushed into the place, crying 
“Aristocrats ! Traitors ! ” and saying that the royal family 
were far too near the frontier to be allowed to halt. 

In consequence, they ordered the immediate departure of 
the King and his family. 

The King, having informed himself of the cause of the 
tumult, said, with his usual impassibility, “ Very well j let 
us go.” 


192 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


The Queen then re-appeared on the balcony holding her 
son by the hand. She pointed out the National Guards to 
him, saying some words in a whisper. 

An inhabitant of St. Menehould, who was at an adjoin- 
ing window, assured me that the following were the words 
that she spoke. “ Do you see those blue toads ? It is they 
who wish us to set out ! ” 

It is needless to say that the National Guards wore the 
blue uniform. 

As the royal family crossed the hall of the Hotel de Ville, 
into which opened the door of the chapel, where the prison- 
ers had heard mass, the Queen perceiving the captives, dis- 
tributed among them five louis — the King ten. 

At two o’clock the carriages started for Chalons. From 
the time that the King had been recognised he took the 
place of honor in the vehicle. 

MM. de Malden, de Moustier, and de Valory, sat on the 
box, but they were not. strapped to it as some people have 
said. 

Not a single shout for the King, except that which Dam- 
pierre uttered, as we have before mentioned, was used at 
either his arrival or departure. The only shouts raised 
were Vive la nation ! ” Vivent les patriotes ! ” 

About nine or ten in the morning the Comte de Haus 
arrived at St. Menehould, exasperated by the news of the 
arrest of the King. 

Many persons had heard hirn say, “ The King is arrested ! 
We are all lost ! But the King shall know that he still has 
some faithful subjects ! ” 

I have said that, after speaking to me, I had seen him 
go round to the side of the horse-pond. 

As the royal carriage passed, he presented arms to the 
august prisoners, after the fashion of a sentinel. 

The King recognised him, pointed him out to the Queen, 
and returned his salute. 

M. Dampierre then put his horse to a gallop, and disap- 
peared at the Rue de I’Abreuvoir so as to get in advance of 
the King’s carriage, stopped in the most public part of the 
town, at the corner of the Rue de I’Abreuvoir, and presented 
arms afresh. 

The King saluted him a third time. 

Then pushing his horse through the crowd on the side 
where I was, he approached the carriage, 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


193 


It was* going at this time up the Fleurion at a foot-pace. 

‘‘ Sire,” said he, “ you see before you one of your most 
faithful servants. My name is Duval de Dampierre, Comte 
de Hans. I have married a lady of the House of Legur, 
a relative of the minister of that name, and a niece of 
M. d’Allonville.” 

All these names are known to me,” replied the King ; 

and I am touched at the proof of fidelity which you give 
me.” 

This whispered conversation, after the pretence of the 
Comte in presenting arms to the King on his road, was a 
direct provocation to that crowd who were taking him who 
had wished to escape back to Paris. 

In the meantime the Comte had been gently pushed on 
one side, and darting off, he disappeared in the distance. 

The head of the procession reached the end of the town, 
and arrived at the decline of Dammartin la Planchette. 

As they left the city, M. de Dampierre reappeared, and 
followed their route, keeping himself on the other side of the 
hedge and ditch. He wished, by some means, to get on to 
the top of the King’s carriage, from whence he could hold 
communication with the royal party inside. These signs,' 
as they could easily understand them, excited defiance. 

They believed that in the few words exchanged at the 
door of the carriage, a project for a rescue had been 
broached ; they closed round the carriage, and the words 

Be on the alert ! ” circulated through the ranks of the 
National Guards. 

M. de Dampierre tried to approach the carriage once 
again, and was repulsed, not only with murmurs, but with 
menaces ; the guards crossing their muskets across the door 
to prevent his holding any communication with the King. 

This almost insolent persistence on his part had exasper- 
ated even the most temperate. 

Seeing that his efforts were useless, M. de Dampierre 
resolved to finish with an act of bravado. 

Having accomplished two-thirds of the descent, at a spot 
called La Grevieres, M. de Dampierre called out a second 
time “ Vive le Koi ! ” fired off his gun in the air, and 
plunging his rowels into his steed, darted off at a gallop. 

A wood was situated about half a league from the road. 
They believed that some troops w'ere in ambuscade there, 
13 


194 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


and that the discharge of the gun was a preconcerted sig* 
nal for them. 

Five or six horsemen dashed off in pursuitof M. de Dam- 
pierre ; ten or twelve shots were fired at him at the same 
time, but none of the bullets touched him. 

M. de Dampierre, still at a gallop, waved his arm in a 
triumphant manner in the air. 

I rushed off like the others, though on foot, not to cap- 
cure M. de Dampierre — heaven forbid ! — but, on the con- 
trary, to help him if needful. 

M. de Dampierre had already galloped more than five 
hundred yards, and he had almost escaped from his pursu- 
ers, when his horse, in leaping a ditch, stumbled, and fell. 

But, with the aid of the bit and bridle, he managed to 
raise him up again, and once more set off at a gallop. His 
gun was left in the ditch. 

At this moment a solitary gun was discharged. 

It was fired by a peasant, mounted on a horse belonging 
to one of the hussars, which he had captured the evening 
before. 

It was easy to see that M. de Dampierre was wounded. 
He fell backwards on the croup of his horse, which reared. 

Then, in a moment, with the rapidity of lightning, on 
the little bridge of St. Catherine, by the borders of the 
ditch, the waters of which pass under the bridge, a horrible 
scene took place, which I saw in all its dreadful details, but 
was unable to oppose. 

The peasant who had fired the shot, followed by about 
forty men, caught up the Comte de Haus, dealt him a blow 
with his sabre, and then unhorsed him. I saw no more. 
I heard the report of about twenty guns, into the suffocat- 
ing smoke of which I dashed. 

They were firing at M. de. Dampierre. 

I arrived too late. Had I reached the mob sooner, it 
would have been to have died with him, for I could not 
have saved him. 

His body was riddled with bullets, and gashed with 
bayonets ; his face, scratched by the peasants’ hob-nailed 
boots, was unrecognisable. 

His watch was dashed to pieces by a ball which had 
penetrated his fob. 

There was nothing to be done. I threw my gun over 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 195 

my shoulder, and, with tears in my eyes and sweat on my 
brow, I rejoined my rank. 

The royal berlin continued its route slowly and sorrow- 
fully under a sweltering sun, along that unbending route 
which crosses like a pencil line that sorrowful portion of 
France called the Paltry Land. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

THE CRITICS CRITICISED. 

Not only does it seem to me sufficient to relate what I 
have seen ; I desire also, as an eye-witness, to rectify history 
and to combat, on sure grounds, the mistake of historians. 

In order to give a slight idea of the -intense excitement 
of Republican France against the King, and more particu- 
larly against the Queen, I quote the following letter, the 
original of which was sent by the citizens of Counien to the 
municipal officers of Varennes : — 

27th of June, 2nd year of Liberty. 

Gentlemen, — 

“ Allow the patriotic women of the State, who have the 
honor of being members of the Club of the Society of the 
Friends of the Constitution, to present to you their best 
congratulations at the capture in your city of the execrable 
traitors, Citizen and Citizeness Capet, whose traitorous ma- 
chinations have so long tried to crush freedom in France. 
Our only prayer is that both may speedily be humiliated. 
Vive la France ! Vive la Libert^ ! A bas les Captes ! 

“ For the Citizenesses of Counien, 
(Signed) “ Citoyenne M \rie Benoit. 

To the Municipal Officers of Varennes.” 

After this specimen of the feeling of the women of France 
can it be wondered that the fate of the King and Queen 
seemed assured. Either they must die, or France must 
sink lower than ever. This, of course, was only my opin- 
ion ; but events have proved whether I was right or wrong. 


196 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

IS LOVE ETERNAL? 

The route from St. Menehould to Chalons is long and 
fatiguing — nine apparently never-ending leagues, travers- 
ing flat and arid plains under a leaden sky, with a sun 
darting his -scorching rays with reflected lustre on the 
musket barrels and sword blades. 

The royal family arrived at Chalons fatigued, dispirited 
and worn out, at ten in the evening. 

Half the original followers of the royal escort had thrown 
themselves down under hedges and in ditches, unable any 
longer to proceed. 

But the actual escort was as strong on arriving at 
Chalons as when leaving St. Menehould, since it was re- 
cruited by the National Guard of every village through 
which it passed ; and the villages were pretty thickly 
scattered on the right and left of that road. 

The authorities, of whom the Mayor took the lead, con- 
ducted the prisoners to the gate of the Dauphin. I use 
the word prisoners advisedly, as the royal family were in 
fact, at that time, prisoners of the nation. 

Strange coincidence ! — the gate through which they 
passed was the triumphal arch raised b}" the French people 
in commemoration of the entry of Madame the Dauphine 
into France. 

It still bore the inscription, “ May it stand eternal^ like 
our love.^^ 

The arch, in fact, still stood, but the love which prompted 
it had fallen away. 

At Chalons, especially, opinion changes. 

The bluffness of the national party was lessened. The 
old town where Attila lost himself, and which now pre- 
served its trade only in the wines of Champagne, was in- 
habited by Royalists of the better class, and by poor 
gentlemen. These good people were sorely vexed to see 
their unhappy King in such doleful plight. 

They expected his arrival ; consequently a great supper 
was prepared 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


197 

The King and Queen partook of the meal in public, as 
they did at Varennes. A sort of royal drawing-room was 
held. The ladies bore with them immense bouquets. The 
Queen was positively overwhelmed with dowsers. 

They determined to start on the morrow, feeling an in- 
crease of confidence on account of the reception they had 
met with. 

Before they set out out, mass was celebrated at ten 
o’clock by M. Charber, perpetual-curate of Notre Dame. 
The King was present, accompanied by the Queen and 
the royal family ; but hardly had the solemn service com- 
menced, before a disturbance was made. 

It was the National Guard of Bheims, who wished the 
King to set out at once. The time spent in mass appeared 
to them wasted, as they had come solely to gloat over the 
downfall of monarchy, and the ruin of their King. They 
broke open, therefore, the doors of the chapel, despite the 
resistance offered to them by the National Guard. 

The King and Queen were advised to show themselves 
at the balcony. They did so ; but the sight of their 
august persons exasperated, in place of calming, the tur- 
bulence of the excited populace, who shouted for the royal 
family to leave their city, and actually drew the carriages 
to the door, harnessed the horses, and did, in fact, all they 
could do to accelerate the departure of the King. 

The King appeared again at the balcony, and pronounced 
the following words : — 

Since you oblige me to leave you, I go ! ” 

Although this was a reproach more than anything else, it 
satisfied the people. 

At eleven exactly, the royal family re-entered their car- 
riage, and put themselves en route. 

The heat was dreadfully oppressive. Their journey was 
made, as it were, through a blast furnace, and their eyes 
were incessantly tormented by a penetrating dust. 

I happened to know the situation of»a cool spring. I ap- 
proached the royal carriage, and demanded respectfully of 
her Majesty the Queen if she desired a glass of fresh water, 
as we were near to some of a most excellent quality. 

“ Thank you,” replied the Queen. 

“ Oh, do have some, mamma — do have some ! I am so 
thirst}’^ ! ” said the Dauphin. 


198 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


I wish it not ; but give me some for my children,” said 
the Queen. 

Madame de Tourzal handed me a silver cup. 

‘‘ Fill this up for me, also,” said Madame Elizabeth. 

She handed me another cup. 

In fancy, after a lapse of sixty years, I can still see her 
angelic face — still hear that charming voice, whose entreat- 
ies were more than commands. 

I leant my gun against the trunk of a tree, rushed to 
the fountain, and brought back the two cups filled with the 
sparkling water, which, through my rapidity, had not had 
time to lose its freshness. 

The Dauphin and Madame Royale shared one cup between 
them. 

Madame Elizabeth, after offering the other cup to the 
Queen, who refused it, drank it herself. 

“ Oh, what delicious water it is,” cried the Dauphin. 

Why does the world drink aught else ? ” 

Because they have drinks they like better,” replied the 
King. 

*‘My son thanks you, sir,” said the Queen. 

I also thank you,” said Madame Elizabeth, with her 
sweet smile. 

I seized my gun, which had been left at the foot of a 
tree. 

I saw you once run after M. de Dampierre,” said the 
Queen. “ With w^hat intention ? ” 

“ With the hope of saving him, if possible, madame.” 

“You have the same opinions, then, as M. de Dam- 
pierre,” said the Queen. 

“I agree with him in the respect which he feels towards 
your enemies.” 

“ Do you know that you give an ambiguous answer, 
young man ? ” said the King. 

“ Yes, sire,” I replied. 

“ Ha, ha ! ” said he. 

Then to the Queen : “ The minds of these people are 

poisoned against us, from their very childhood.” 

“ Oh, papa ! ” cried the Dauphin, “ what a beautiful gun 
he has ! ” 

I was the person referred to. To the Queen and 
Madame Elizabeth I was “monsieur,” but to the Dauphin 
I was simply “ he.” 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


199 


The King looked at my gun. 

It is,” said he, “ a gun manufactured at Versailles. 
Where did you procure it ? ” 

The Due d’Enghien gave it to me, sire.” 

Yes,” said the King, “the Condes have all the benefits 
on this side, — ‘ the department of the Meuse,’ as they call 
it.” 

Then looking towards me : “ Have you ever served 

princes ? ” 

“Sire,” said I, smiling, “is it necessary to have served 
princes in order to receive a present from them ? ” 

The Queen bent her regards upon the King. 

“ Strange ! ” said she. 

I retreated a pace. 

The King beckoned me, but not knowing how to address 
me, he said, “My young friend, you say that the Due d’En- 
ghien gave you that gun ? ” 

“Yes, sire. I understand,” said I, “that the King 
wishes to know upon what occasion this gun was presented 
to me. 1 was the nephew of a park-keeper of the Forest 
of Argonne, whose name was Father Descharmes. The 
Due de Conde and the Due d’Enghien often hunted in this 
forest. The Due d’Engheiu took a fancy to me, and gave 
me this gun.” 

The King, for a moment, appeared buried in thought. 

“ Your uncle is still alive ?” he then asked. 

“ Sire, he is dead ? ” 

“Why do you not solicit his place ? ” 

“ Because, sire, the keepers wear livery. I am a free 
man.” 

“ Children suck in republican ideas, even with their moth- 
ers’ milk!” murmured the King. 

He then threw himself back in his carriage. 

I know not if the King spoke again ; but the carriage at 
the moment stopped; and, perchance, with it stopped some- 
thing of importance. 

We had arrived at Port Bassion. 

Suddenly was heard a cry : “ The commissaires ! the 
coinmissaires ! ” 

At this moment, a man on horseback dashed up to the 
door of the King’s carriage. The King put out his head, 
to see what had caused the halt. 


200 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


Sire,” said the horseman, here are three deputies, 
who wish to direct the return of your Majesty.’’ 

Aha ! ” said the King, Can you tell me the names of 
these estimable gentlemen ? ” 

“ Their names, sire, are Citizens Latour-Maubourg, Bar- 
nave, and Petion.” 

The three deputies represented the three different parties 
of the Assembly. Latour-Maubourg was Eoyalist, Barnave 
was Constitutional, Petion was Bepublican. 

The crowd respectfully drew back. Three men approach- 
ed the royal carriage, stopped at the door, and saluted the 
King, who returned their inclination. 

One of them held in his hand a paper, which he read in 
a loud voice. It was the decree of the National Assembly. 

The man who read it was Petion. 

This decree ordered them to proceed to the King, not on- 
ly to ensure his safety, but also as a mark of respect due to 
royalty, as represented in the persons of Louis XVI and 
Marie Antoinette. 

The King knew that M. Latour-Manbourg was a Boy- 
alist. 

He therefore desired that, as two deputies had to sit in 
the carriage with him, he would name the two. The 
Queen expressed the same desire. 

M. Latour-Maubourg replied, in a whisper : — 

“ I accepted the sad mission which introduces me to your 
Majesty only in the hopes of being of some service to you. 
Your Majesty can, then, count upon me as a faithful fol- 
lower. But I have not the power of Barnave, who exercises 
an enormous influence over the Assembly. He is vain as 
an advocate, and will be flattered by having a seat in the 
carriage of the King. It is, therefore, needful that he 
should occupy a place, and that the Queen should take the 
opportunity of improving his acquaintance. I, therefore, 
beg your Majesties to excuse m}^ surrendering my seat.” 

The Queen bowed her head. She wished to again as- 
sume her womanly properties, and to seduce Barnave, as 
she had Mirabeau. To be sure, it was humiliating, but, at 
tbe same time, it was a distraction. 

Strange contradiction ! It was the King who had most 
repugnance to Barnave’s occupying a seat in the royal car- 
riage. Barnave, a little Dauphinois advocate, pride upon 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


201 


his face, his nose perked up in the air, and his tout ensem- 
ble proclaiming insuiferahle conceit, took his place. Petion 
likewise, his rosy cheeks glowing with satisfaction, disposed 
of himself to his perfect content. 

Barnave and Potion, therefore, as we have said, entered 
the roj’al carriage. 

Madame de Tourzel had resigned her place, and entered, 
witfi M. Latour-Manbourg, the carriage set apart for the 
attendants. 

Petion at once proclaimed his discourtesy by claiming, as 
representative of the National Assembly, a seat with his 
face to the horses. The King and Queen made a sign to 
Madame Elizabeth, who at once changed places with him. 

At last, all inside the royal carriage were satisfactorily 
arranged. On the back seat were the King, Petion, the 
Queen ; and on the front, Madame Elizabeth, face to face 
with Petion, Madame Royale and the Dauphin face to face 
and knee to knee with the Queen, w’ho was opposite, also, 
to Bernave. 

At the first glance the Queen fancied that Barnave was 
dry, cold, and wicked. 

Barnave had hoped to take the place of Mirabeau at the 
Assembly. He had succeeded in part j could not the Queen 
confer the rest ? 

Why not ? 

Had she not, at St. Cloud, given a secret interview to 
Mirabeau ? Why should not he, Barnave, be accorded a 
similar favor. 

But then, public rumor spread abroad that one of the 
three gentlemen on the box of the carriage, “ M. Eersen,” 
was the accepted lover of the Queen. 

Strange thing ! As I have told you the good self-opin- 
ion of Barnave, be w^as yet jealous of M. de Eersen. 

With the admirable shrewdness of women, the Queen 
discovered this before a quarter of an hour had elapsed. 

She managed to get the three guards, named respectively 
MM. de Malden, de Yalory, and de Moustier. 

No Eersen ! 

Barnave breathed, smiled, and became positively charm- 
ing. 

Barnave w^as young, handsome, polished, of fascinating 
manners, and felt great commiseration for the unfortunate 
royal party. 


202 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


In place of the Queen seducing Barnave, Barnave 
almost seduced the Queen. 


CHAPTEB XXXVI. 

BARNAVE AND PETION. 

One naturally asks how I became acquainted with all 
this. 

I have already said that, on leaving Yarennes, I had 
taken a place on the back of the carriage of the King. 
Happily, I had managed to retain my position, despite the 
heat, the fatigue, and the dust. Twice only, for a few min- 
utes, had I quitted my location ; firstly, to try and assist 
M. de Dampierre, and, secondly, to procure the water for 
Madame Elizabeth and the Dauphin. Both times, on my 
return, I recovered my place. The glass windows of the 
herlin were let down on account of the heat, and the royal 
family, not speaking in ver}’^ low voices, I managed to hear 
pretty well all that was said. 

This explanation given, I will continue my story, with 
the historj^ of the rudeness of Petion, and the courtesy of 
Barnave. 

There was placed between Madame Elizabeth and 
Madame Boyale, a bottle of lemonade and a glass. Potion 
W’as thirsty, and felt inclined to drink. He took the glass, 
and handed it to Madame Elizabeth, who took up the lem- 
onade, and filled it. 

“ Enough ! ” said Potion, lifting his glass as he would 
have done at a cabaret. 

The Queen’s eyes flashed with anger. 

The Dauphin, with the impatience of a youngster, shift- 
ed in his seat; Potion seized him, and imprisoned him 
between his legs. 

The Queen said nothing, but again darted a look of 
menace at Petion ; who, remembering that it might be 
politic to gain the favor of the King, caressed the Dau- 
phin’s white locks with apparent affection. 

The Dauphin made a grimace expressive of grief. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


203 


The Queen snatched him from Petion’s legs. 

Barnave, smiling, immediately opened his arms to him. 

The boy seemed willing, and was, therefore, soon installed 
on Barnave’s knees. 

His instinct shewed him that he would find in Barnave 
a protector. 

Playing with a button on the coat of the represen ative, 
he discovered that a device was inscribed upon it, and, after 
many efforts, succeeded in reading it. 

The device was, Live free, or die.^’ 

The Queen sighed, and regarded Barnave, her eyes filled 
with tears. 

Barnave’s heart smote him. 

This was his position. He followed his own individual 
romance^ in the midst of a royal and terrible history, when 
sdddenly a noise was heard some paces behind the royal 
carriage. 

The cries and tumult drew Barnave from the magic cir- 
cle which surrounded him. 

A venerable ecclesiastic approached the carriage, much in 
the same manner as M. de Dampierre had done, and up- 
lifted his hands and blessed the royal martyr. 

The mob, unsatiated by one murder, rushed upon the 
priest, and drew him away, to slaughter him in the ditch 
by the roadside. 

I was on the opposite side of the carriage to where this 
affair was taking place. 

M. Barnave, M. Barnave ! cried I ; “ help, help ! ’’ 

At the same moment, M. Barnave, putting his head out 
of the window, saw what was taking place. 

He placed the Dauphin in the arms of his aunt, and 
opened the carriage door with such violence and rapidity, 
that he almost fell out; in fact, he would have fallen, had 
not Madame Elizabeth caught and retained him by his 
coat-tails. 

“ Oh, Frenchmen ! ” cried he ; ye are a nation of brave 
men — would ye become a horde of assassins?” 

I At this eloquent appeal, the people let go the priest, who 
[escaped, protected by the outspread arms and eloquent ges- 
tures of Barnave. 

The door was again shut, Barnave retook his place, and 
the Queen said to him, “ I thank you, M. Barnave.” 


204 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


He bowed his head. 

Before the arrival of the commissaires, the King had 
eaten alone with his family ; but now, after consulting the 
Queen, he invited them to share his repast. 

Potion accepted the invitation ; Latour-Maubourg and 
Barnave declined. 

Barnave insisted, however, on waiting on the royal fam- 
ily ; but the Queen made him a sign, and he yielded. 

I was one of the guard at the door of the dining-room. 

In the evening, MM. Drouet and Guillaume set out at 
full speedy to inform the Assembly of what had taken 
place. 

Drouet came to bid me good-bye. 

‘‘ M. Drouet,” said I to him, ^‘you know me, as I am 
your pupil. I take the greatest interest in that which is 
going on. It will be sometliing to talk about for the rest 
of my life. Give the order, before you leave, to have me 
always placed close to their Majesties. The fatigue will be 
nothing, and I wish to see all that goes on.” 

‘‘Be it as you wish,” said he, without making the least 
objection. 

That was the reason why I had been appointed one of 
the guards that day at the door of the dining-room. 

This is what happened at Dormans. 

After dinner, the three commissaires went into the 
neighboring room — that is to say, the one at which I 
mounted guard. 

“ Citizens,” said Barnave to them, “ we are commissaires 
of the National Assembly, and not the executioners of the 
royal family ; and to make them proceed under this burn- 
ing sun is simply to conduct them to the scaffold.” 

“ Good ! ” said Potion. “ What has happened to them 
has been brought on by their own follies.” 

“ Still they are no less King and Queen,” replied M. de 
Latour-Maubourg. 

“ If affairs keep progressing as they do now, it is 
extremely probable that they will not long even have that 
title to console them.” 

“ Quite right,” said Barnave. “ But still I think that, 
as long as they retain the titles of King and Queen, they 
ought to be treated as such.” 

“ I have no objection,” said Petion, in an indifferent 
tone. “ Do as you like, most loyal gentlemen.” 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


205 


Saying these words, he left the room. 

Barnave and M. de Latour-Maubourg, being alone, 
decided that the royal carriage should be accompanied only 
by a cavalry escort, so that it might proceed at a trot, and 
on the third evening arrive at Meaux. 

At that moment, they relieved guard. I ran to the 
postmaster at Dormans, who was a friend of M. Drouet’s, 
and with whom we had lodged on our way to the federation, 
and prayed , him to lend me a horse, to go as far as Meaux, 
where the royal family would halt, to pass the night in 
repose. 

In these critical times, paternal feeling elevated itself. 
The postmaster had seen M. Drouet the evening before, 
who had announced to him my arrival to-day. He would 
not let me hire the steed — he gave it to me. 

They arrived at Meaux about six in the evening. 

The King again invited the commissaires to sup with 
him, as he had before invited them to dine. Petion 
accepted the invitation ; M. de Latour-Maubourg and Bar- 
nave refused it. 

But the Queen, with charming grace, turning towards 
Barnave, said, “ Pray accept it, M. Barnave, as, after the 
meal, I shall have need of you.’^ 

Barnave bowed, the King signed to M. de Latour- 
Maubourg and the two took their places at the royal table. 

They were located in the palace of the Bishop of Meaux, 
a melancholy-looking place enough, with its dark oak stair- 
case and mysterious and dusty passages. 

I was on guard at the garden gate. 

After dinner, the Queen, who, as she had said to Barnave, 
had need of him, took his arm, and mounted the staircase 
to the apartments above, under pretext of seeing a cham- 
ber once occupied by Bossiiet. 

As for the King, he descended into the gardens with 
Petion. Petion it was who desired the tUe-a-tUe. 

Petion, who, apart from his folly, was a good man, and 
had a good heart, had formed an idea of escape for the King. 
It was, to allow the three body-guards to go, so that they 
might disguise themselves as National Guards, and so facil- 
itate their entrance into Paris. 

But, extraordinary to relate, the King could not under- 
stand this idea of Petion’s j and not wishing to be under 


206 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


an obligation to Potion, and having the absurd suspicion 
that he wished to assassinate the guards, he refused. 

And yet, on the day when he could have caused Lafayette 
to be proclaimed Mayor of Paris, he nominated Petion. 

It was because the Queen hated Lafayette more than the 
King detested P4tion. 

As for the Queen, no one knows what passed between her 
and Barnave, except through the account which she after- 
wards gave to Madame Campan. 

The impression which the young representative produced 
on the Queen may be summed up in those words. 

“ If ever power returns into our hands, the pardon of 
Barnave is assured in our hearts.^’ 

The Queen was ready to pardon Barnave for his rebel- 
lion ; France did not pardon him for his weakness. 

The unhappy orator paid with his head for the few 
moments of happiness he spent with this second Marie 
Stuart. 

Perchance he had the same honor as Mirabeau, of kissing 
her hand. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

PARIS. 


Bay dawned. 

It was the 25th of June. They returned to Paris after 
five days^ absence. 

Five days ! What terrible events had come to pass in 
the space of five days ! 

As they approached Paris, Barnave retook his seat at the 
back. 

No longer was it a seat of honor, but the place of 
danger. 

If a fanatic should fire on the King, which was, indeed, 
probable ; if on the Queen, which was more than probable ; 
— Barnave was there, to arrest with his own body the fell 
bullet aimed at royalty. 

M. Mathieu Bamas had been charged by Lafayette, 
Royalist though he was, to protect their entry. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


20T 


This able strategist had drawn from all parties in order 
to diminish the danger. He confided the guarding of the 
carriage to the grenadiers, whose tall hats hid entirely the 
doors ; a line of horse grenadiers formed a second ring. 

As for the three guards whom Louis XVI had not wished 
to go, two grenadiers, with their muskets bayoneted, sat a 
little behind the box-seat, ready to suppress any attempt at 
rescue or flight. 

The heat was tremendous. The carriage, the nearer it 
approached Paris, appeared to he entering the mouth of 
a furnace. 

The Queen, whom nothing hitherto had conquered, was 
beaten by the heat. Twice or thrice she cried, I suffo- 
cate ! ” 

At Bourget, the King asked for wine. 

Broken down by fatigue, Madame Elizabeth slept. 

The change of places had brought Potion close by her. 
The face of the future Mayor of Paris had a remarkable 
expression of joy. The Queen, who cared not for sleeping 
herself, shook her by the arm in order to awaken her. 

“Let her alone,^^ cried Potion. “Nature must take its 
course.” 

They passed the harrier, and entered into the midst of a 
moving and agitated people. 

From time to time the crowd gave a tremendous yell. 
The King, trying to show sang-froid^ began, apparently, 
to read. 

“ Suppose one were to applaud the King ! ” 

“ He shall be scourged ! ” 

“ Suppose one were to insult him ? ” 

“He shall he hanged ! ” 

The crowd kept pace with the carriage. 

Mathieu Damas, commanding the escort, did not wish to 
enter Paris by the Faubourg St. Martin. He was nearer 
the Faubourg St. Antoine, of terrible memory, on account 
of the attack and seizure of the Bastille. 

He asked himself if he had a human harrier strong 
enough to protect the royal family from the crowd who 
had virtually sentenced them to death. He went round 
Paris by the external Bo\ilevards, and entered it by the 
Champ Elysees and the Place Louis XY. 

On the Place Louis XV stood, at that period, the statue 
of the monarch whose name the place bore. 


208 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


They had bandaged the eyes of the statue with a hand- 
kerchief. 

This allusion, though ignored by the King, still disquiet- 
ed him. 

“ Why this bandage on the eyes of my predecessor ? ” in- 
quired the King. 

To show the blindness of the monarchy, sire,’^ replied 
Petion. 

In the progress from the Champs Elysees to the Place 
Louis XV, the barrier of grenadiers was often broken. 

Then the Queen saw appear at the windows hideous faces, 
expressive of satisfaction and revenge. 

What caused those devils to turn away and bow ? 

It was a kiss which the Dauphin sent them, and a bow 
from his sister ; those white-winged angels hovering over 
the royal family. 

Lafayette, with his etat major, passed by the Queen. 

As soon as she perceived them, she cried out, M. La- 
fayette, above all things save my three body-guards j their 
crime has been but to obey me.*^ 

The same cry was uttered by her at Versailles on the 6th 
of October. Their danger was really great. 

The carriages passed through the gate of the Tuileries, 
which was vainly endeavored to be shut after them. They 
proceeded along the grand promenade of the garden, and 
halted only at the end of the great terrace which stretched 
along the front of the palace. 

It was there that the crowd, greater than ever, awaited 
them. It was impossible to go farther ; they must get out 
of their carriage. 

The Assembly was not present, but it had sent twenty 
deputies. 

Lafayette cleared a pathway from the terrace to the pal- 
ace door. He constructed an iron arch with the muskets 
and ’>ayonets of the National Guard. 

M. Barnave,” again cried the Queen, “ I ask you to 
protect my three guards.” 

Tlie children first descended, and entered the palace with- 
out opposition. It was then the turn of the three guards, 
for whom the Queen had asked protection from M. Lafayette 
and M. Barnave. 

Then there came a terrible outcry. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


209 


I had left my horse at the top of the Champs Elysees, 
and marched with the grenadiers on foot. At first, they 
tried to turn me out, but the King said, “ Let him alone ; 
he is a friend.’’ 

They did leave me alone. M. Petion gave me a side 
glance ; M. Barnave smiled. 

The King and Queen looked to see what would happen 
to the three guards ; the King gazed with his usual apathy, 
the Queen with intense interest. 

The sabres and pikes of the National Guard waved over 
them as they shouted, “ Death to the traitors ! ” 

All of a sudden, I saw a stream of blood running down 
M. de Malden’s cheek. 

Being in the circle, I drew him, with a vigorous effort, 
towards me, crying, Peace ! peace ! I am the friend of 
M. Drouet.” 

Five hundred voices shouted, “ Long live Drouet ! Long 
live Guillaume ! ” 

I drew M. de Malden under the arch of the Grand 
Pavilion, but he would proceed no farther until assured of 
the safety of the King and Queen. 

During this time, in the midst of the most terrible mur- 
murs, the}'^ saved M. de Valory and M. de Moustier. 

Like M. de Malden, M. de Valory was wounded; but 
also like M. de Malden, his wound was but slight. 

At this moment, the Queen cried, in a suffocating voice, 
^'Help! help!” 

In getting out of the carriage, she found herself in the 
arms of two men, who regarded her with looks of mortal 
enmity, and at the same time held her fast. 

These two men were M. de Aguillon and M. de Noailles. 
The Queen seemed likely to faint with terror. Both said 
to her, “ Fear nothing, madame ; we protect you.” 

At the peril of their lives, they conducted her to her 
room. There she was seized with agony. She called the 
Dauphin — she looked for the Dauphin, but no Dauphin was 
there. 

Madame Boyale took her by the hand and led her into 
the bed-room, and pointed out to her the Dauphin, who, 
overcome with fatigue, slept. 

She could not believe, after the threats she had heard, 

13 


210 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


that the whole of the royal family could re-enter their 
palace safe and sound. 

I returned to the carriage, where still remained Madame 
Elizabeth and the King. 

Barnave thought that it would not be too much for him 
and Petion to safeguard the King. 

“ Some one/’ cried he — “ some one to offer Madame 
Elizabeth an arm.” 

Madame Elizabeth descended from the carriage with her 
usual angelic calmness. 

“Monsieur,” said she to me, “will you give me your 
arm ? ” 

I was frightened out of my wits. 

“ Oh, madame,” said I ; “ this dress ? ” 

“ The dress that you wear is far better than a royal robe. 
And besides,” continued she, “ I have watched you : you 
are a young man of a good heart.” 

I threw my gun over my shoulder, and took my hat in 
my hand. 

“ Madame,” said I, “ if you desire one ready to die for 
you — to throw down his life in your behalf, your choice 
could not fall on one better than myself.” 

They saw Madame Elizabeth take the arm of a simple 
National Guard, and they clapped their hands. 

Arrived at the foot of the staircase, I wished to retire. 

“ My brother? ” said she, trying to see. 

I looked back. 

“He is coming,” said I, “between M. Barnave and 
M. Potion.” 

I then bowed to Madame Elizabeth a second time. 

“ Will you not return to see us, sir ? ” asked Madame 
Elizabeth. 

“I fear, madame, that I shall not again have the oppor- 
tunity of being of service to you.” 

“ Perhaps so, but you have been ; and, whatever people 
ma}’- say, we are a family that never forget.” 

At this moment the King arrived. 

“ Thank you, gentlemen ; thank you,” said he to Bar- 
nave and Petion. “ I need not say to you that if you like 
to come up-stairs ” 

“ Sire,” replied Barnave, “ your Majesty and her Ma- 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


211 


jesty the Queen are at present in safety. We must go to 
render an account of our mission to the Assembly.’’ 

They bowed to the King, and retired. 

I did the same ; that is to say, I bowed ; but as I was 
retiring, Madame Elizabeth, pointing me out to the King, 
said, “ My brother, this young man ? ” 

She evidently, in her noble heart, did not wish me to go 
without some recompense. 

’Tis true,” said the King ; “ I forgot that he was your 
protege.’^ 

“ Say, rather, that I am his protege.” 

He took me by the collar of my coat. 

“ Look here, young man ; unhappy as we are, can we do 
nothing to help you ? ” 

I felt wounded that the King should think that I requir- 
ed to be paid for what I had done. 

Sire,” replied I, “ if you make a promise to the nation, 
keep it; and, as a citizen, you will have done all for me 
that I can ask.” 

‘‘ You see, sister,” said the King, “he is a savage.” 

“ What is your name, sir ? ” asked Madame Elizabeth. 

“ E,en4 Besson.” 

“ Whence come you ? ” 

“ From the Forest of Argonne.” 

“ I told you he was a savage,” said the King. “ What 
else could you expect ? ” 

“ What trade are you ? ” 

“ A carpenter.” 

“ My brother, you know the fable of the Lion and the 
Rat,” said Madame Elizabeth. 

“ My friend,” said the King, “you see that I must enter 
my house. If you have need of me, ask for Clery, my 
valet-de-chamhre.” 

“ Sire,” replied I, “ a man who has an occupation has 
need of no one, much less of a King.” 

The King shrugged his shoulders, and mounted the stair- 
case. Madame Elizabeth stayed behind. 

“ But, on the other hand, my friend,” said she, “ suppose 
that we have need of you ? ” 

“ Ah, madame,” cried I, “ that is another affair ! ” 

“ In that case, M. Rene Besson, ask for Clery.” 

She followed her brother, whilst I stood there motionless, 


212 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


regarding that angel who knew how to recompense one in 
asking. 

On the morrow, the journalist, Prudhomme, wrote : — 

‘^Certain good patriots, in whom the sentiment of loy- 
alty has not extinguished that of compassion, appear 
uneasy concerning the moral and phj^sical state of Louis 
XVI and his family, after a journey so fatiguing in all 
respects as that from St. Menehould. 

“ Let them reassure themselves. Our friend, on entering 
his apartments, on his return, felt no more fatigue than if 
he had been indulging in the pleasures of the chase. 

“ He ate his chicken as usual, and the next day played 
after dinner with his son. 

“As for the mother, she took a bath on her arrival. 
Her first request was for hoots ; she having remarked with 
sorrow, that hers had been destroyed by travelling. She 
acted with hauteur to the officers picked out especially to 
guard her, and said that it was ridiculous and indecent to 
have the door of her bath-room and bed-chamber left 
open.” 

We quote these four paragraphs to show to what an 
extent party spirit can blind men. 

The Citizen Prudhomme, who, after having written 
“ The Revolutions of Paris in ’91,” was to write “ The 
Crimes of the Revolution of ’98,” wrongfully describes four 
incidents : — “ That the King ate a fowl, and that he played 
with his son ; that the Queen had a bath, and shut her door 
when taking it.” 

It is always so. There can never be a revolution without 
a Prudhomme : first, to glorify them : and then to grossly 
insult. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

I RESUME MY ORIGINAL PROFESSION. 

It was nine o’clock in the evening. I went to look after 
my horse, which I had left in a house by the barrier. They 
gave it back to me as promised, and I retook it to the 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


213 


stables, always using the name of M. Drouet. I took a 
receipt for it, and at ten o’clock I entered the Rue St. 
Honore. 

I found all the family at table, as, on account of the 
day’s excitement, the supper, which usually was partaken 
of at eight o’clock, to-night was delayed till ten. 

They raised a cry of joy when they saw me. Maitre 
Duplay, who had been with the National Guard of the 
Quartier St. Honore, fancied that he saw me at the door of 
the royal carriage, by the side of the grenadiers ; but the 
thing appeared so improbable, that he had told it to his 
family more as a delusion than a fact. 

Scarcely was I recognised, than the two girls immediately 
made a space for me between them. 

This was the more easy, as the elder apprentice w'as 
absent, leaving only the one enamoured of Mdlle. Cornelie, 
Felicien Herda. 

I did not w'ant much pressing to sit down ; I was literally 
dying of hunger and thirst. The young girls wished to 
ask me questions ; but M. Duplaj^ excused me until I had 
both eaten and drank. 

In a few minutes, I rejoined the supper eaters, and set 
mj’^self to gratify the public curiosity. 

It W’as necessary for me to recount everything, omitting 
no details, from the moment when M. Drouet appeared to 
the King as a vision, on the top of the Hill des Religieuses, 
to the moment w’hen the carriage started from the house of 
the grocer. Sauce, and, lastly, to their arrival at the gate of 
the Tuileries. 

It can be easily understood with what avidity my tale 
was devoured, especially by the w’omen. At that period, 
the W'omen took a great interest in the Revolution; Mad- 
ame Duplay, Mdlle. Cornelie, and Mdlle. Estelle made me 
repeat the same details over and over again ; and, though 
they had a sigh for Madame Elizabeth, the Queen was ever 
an Austrian — that is to say, an enemy. 

It was now eleven o’clock. Duplay, bursting with the 
news which I brought him, resolved to go to the Jacobin 
Club. There was no doubt but that, in consequence of the 
great events taking place, the club would, despite the late 
hour, be holding a sitting. 

He asked me if I would like to accompany him; but, 


214 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


indefatigal)le though I was, I asked his permission to retire 
to repose. 

They gave me Dmuoiit’s chamber, which was vacant, on 
account of its owner having left the shop some eight days 
previously. The ladies undertook to arrange the bed drap- 
eries, and perform all the little offices which come so grate- 
fully from a woman’s tender hand and kind heart. Felicien 
commenced by scowling at me ; but when he perceived that 
upon Estelle, by tacit consent, fell the greater share of the 
labor on my account, his brow gradually relaxed. 

Duplay set out for his club. They then informed me 
that my chamber was ready. It was the first time for four 
nights that I had slept in a bed, so ynu may imagine that 
I stood upon no ceremony. I made a hurried bow to all, 
rushed up to my room ; and, on arriving there, blessed 
Madame Duplay for the quantity of water and towels that 
she had left me — as it required plenty of both to rid me of 
that accursed dust of Champagne, with which I seemed to 
be perfectly coated. 

I jumped into bed, and, in a second, fell into the most 
profound sleep. 

On the next morning, I was awakened by M. Duplay, 
after a most persistent shaking, which, in my sleep, I 
attributed to other causes. 

Ah ! ” said he ; when you sleep you do sleep, and no 
mistake, you drowsy provincials.”. 

Bah ! ” said I. “ It is you, then, who have been trying 
to awaken, me ? ” 

“ Yes ; and who tried last night, but could not succeed.” 

What did you wish of me ? ” 

“ Citizen Bene Besson, I fancied that you would excuse 
the breach of hospitality, when you knew that I had some- 
thing most important to tell you.” 

Well, I am all attention, M. Duplay.” 

“ Call me Citizen,” said Duplay, pluming himself. 

“Well, I listen to you, citizen.” 

“ As you know, I went to the club last night.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ There I met M. Chanderlos de Laclos.” 

“ Citizen Laclos, you mean, I suppose ? ” 

“ I stand corrected. All men are now equal. Well, I 
met Citizen Laclos, and told him all that you had related 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


215 


to me concerning the journey of the King to Paris. Do 
you know what he asked me ? He asked me to take you 
to the Palais Poyal, in order that you may give your ver- 
sion of the affair to the Due d’Orleans.” 

« I Q 

“Yes, thou! In the meantime, you had better dress 
yourself.” 

“ Do I go this morning, then ? ” 

“ Between nine and ten o’clock.” 

“ What time is it now ? ” 

Half-past eight.” 

“ You know, I suppose, that my only costume is that 
of a National Guard ? ” 

“ It is the costume of patriots.” 

“ But still, when one goes near princes ! Does my coat 
want ‘brushing ? ” 

“ Leave that to Catherine. You occupy yourself with 
putting on a clean shirt, if you have any. I will see that 
your clothes and boots are brushed. If 3’'ou have not any 
clean linen, I can lend you some.” 

“ Thank you ; I have all that I require in my bag.” 

“Dress, then ; don’t waste time.” 

And Maitre Dupla}", Republican though he was, enchant- 
ed to conduct me before a prince, took my coat, hat, trous- 
ers and boots, down stairs for Catherine to brush. 

At nine o’clock exactly, I was ready. 

We went along the Rue St. Honore to the Rue de 
Valois, and, arm-in-arm, entered the Palais Royal by the 
gate which opens into that street. 

Maitre Duplay' gave his name. Citizen Laclos had, no 
doubt, given previous orders, for we were immediately 
admitted. 

Arrived at the first floor, no sooner had Duplay given 
his name, than they sent at once for M. Chanderlos de 
Laclos. 

M. Chanderlos de Laclos rushed up. 

“ Is this the young fellow ? asked he. 

“ Himself,” replied M. Duplay. 

“ Let him come into the presence of his Highness.” 

He conducted me along a straight corridor into a bou- 
doir, which led into a bedroom, the open door of which 
allowed me to see that the bed was unmade. The open 


216 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


windows, with the closed jalousies, gave access to a most 
refreshing breeze. 

His Eoyal Highness, clothed in a dressing-gown, made 
of cashmere, with a cap to match, was sipping tea — a new 
fashion imported from England ; every one knows that his 
Highness was thoroughly English — with a charming dame 
of twenty-nine or thirty years of age, clothed in an elegant 
morning dress, and who was, as I afterward learnt, Madame 
Bulfon. 

M. le Due d’Orleans, afterwards so celebrated under the 
name of Philip Egalite, was a man of from forty-four to 
forty-five years of age ; a fat, full figure, red complexion, 
with a good carriage, but the head a little too large — who, 
on account of a quarrel with the Queen, had been cruelly 
and unjustly treated by the court of inquiry into the naval 
engagement at Ouessant, where he had comported himself 
most bravely. 

The result of this, on his side, w'as a most bitter hatred 
of the Queen. 

He received me with a nod of the head ; Madame de 
Butfon regarded me with curiosity. I was* far from being 
elegant, but I possessed great propriety of manner. With- 
out being handsome, I was at an age when youth supplies 
the want of beauty. I was tall, well-made, with an open 
expression of countenance, and a well-knit frame. The 
loyalty of my heart beamed upon my face. In short, I 
made the same impression upon the Due d^Orleans and 
Madame de Buffon as I had upon the King, the Queen, 
and Madame Elizabeth — that of being a well-looking lad. 

You come from Varennes, my friend ? ” said the 
Duke. 

“ Yes, monseigneur,” replied I. 

“ And you saw all that passed at the grocer’s — what do 
you call him ? ” 

Sauce, monseigneur.” 

So it is. And you also saw what took place on the 
road ? ” 

Monseigneur, I have not lost sight of the royal family 
since their arrest.” 

“Aha! There is a lady, a thorough Boyalist. She 
wishes to know all that has happened to her good King 
and dear Queen. Will you be kind enough to give her a 
history of it ? ” 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


217 


I commenced the account. When I mentioned Drouet, 
the Duke interrupted me to ask particulars about him. 
When I mentioned M. Dampierre, he made another inter- 
ruption. He made another when I mentioned Barnave, 
Petion, and Latour-Maubourg ; in fact, he wushed to know 
even the minutest particulars. 

Before I had finished, Go and find Chartres,’^ he said to 
M. de Laclos. 

M. de Laclos went out ; I continued my recital. 

It was nearly brought to an end, when the door opened, 
and gave entrance to a handsome young man, whom I had 
already seen at the Jacobin Club on the occasion of my first 
visit to Paris. 

The young Prince bowed respectfully to his father, gal- 
lantly kissed Madame Butfon’s hand, threw a scrutinizing 
glance on me, and seemed to bend his whole attention on 
what was passing. 

“ I regret not having summoned you before, Chartres,^’ 
said the Duke. Here is a young man who came to tell 
us an extremely interesting history of the journey from Va- 
rennes. He knew M. Drouet well — knew also the unhappy 
Comte de Dampierre. He has seen the commissioners sent 
by the National Assembly. He has seen all, in fact; and 
all he has seen, he has retained ; and I am sure jmu would 
have felt great pleasure in listening to his recital.” 

“But,” said the Due de Chartres, “perhaps this young 

gentleman will have the kindness ” Then, stopping, 

and looking at his father, “ Better still,” continued he ; 
“just as M. Laclos told me that you wished to see me, I 
was going to breakfast.” 

The Due d’Orleans appeared to understand, and nodded 
his head imperceptibly. M. le Due de Chartres did the 
same, pointing to me. 

“ Will you do me the favor to breakfast with me ? — and, 
during the meal, you can relate the whole affair.” 

I addressed myself to M. Laclos. 

“’Tis for me,” said I to him, “ to thank his Highness for 
the great honor which he has conferred upon me ; but it is 
for you to explain to him that I have left in the entrance- 
hall some one who awaits me ; but that will not prevent ine 
from giving Monseigneur,” continued I, turning to Due 
d’Orleans, “ the recital which I have just given you.” 


218 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


But,” said the Due de Chartres, smiling, it will pre- 
vent you from accepting my breakfast.” 

Monseigiieur,” said I, I am apprenticed to M. Duplay, 
your carpenter. It was he who had the goodness to tell 
M. Laclos thatj should have the honor of being received this 
morning by the Prince, your father. It would be but a bad 
return, I think, for his kindness were I to leave him wait- 
ing in the antechanjber — he who is my master, — w’hilst I 
had the honor of breakfasting wdth you. Excuse me,” said 
I, laughing. I am a savage from the forest of Argonne ; 
but, in all cases, I know Monseigneur to be sufficiently just 
and good to make him my judge in this case, and I promise 
faithfully to comply with his decree.” 

But, sir,” said Madame de Buffon, “ do you know that, 
for a savage From what forest said you ? ” 

“ The Forest of Argonne.” 

You express yourself well. One would think that all 
your life you had been talking to princes.” 

I have not all my life spoken to princes, but princes 
have often done me the honor to speak to me.” 

“ Truly ! Who were they ? ” 

“ M. le Prince de Conde and M. le Due d’Enghien. 
They used to hunt in the Forest of Argonne, and M. 
d’Enghien was in the habit of taking me with him.” 

“Well, nothing can astonish me, after this!” cried 
Madame de Buffon. 

“ Did you see my cousin just before his departure ? ” 
asked the Due de Chartres. 

“ I am probably the last Frenchman to whom he paid the 
honor of shaking his hand.” 

“Well, then, you must accept my offer, and breakfast 
with me.” 

“ That is my affair,” said the Due. “ Dear lady, 
methinks I heard you say that you have some carpentry 
work to be done in your apartments. I, for my part, have 
several orders to give Duplay. Let him be brought up, 
M. Laclos : we will give him our commands ourselves. Let 
him pass through the salle-d-matiffet', and there he can 
drink a health to the nation, in a glass of wane, with these 
young gentlemen.” 

Thus was the affair arranged. 

I told the Due de Chartres, while breakfasting with him, 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


219 


all tliat related to our hunting expeditions in the Forest of 
Argonne, to my education, the death of Pere Descharmes, 
my sojourn at Varennes, the arrest of the King, and the re- 
turn to Paris. 

You are only half-armed, my dear M. Een4,” said the 
Due de Chartres, when leaving me. My cousin of Enghien 
gave you a gun : allow me to present you with a pair of*pis- 
tols.” 

He then took down a pair from a trophy — they were of 
Versailles manufacture — and insisted on my accepting them, 
as they matched my gun in pattern. 

When I say insisted, perhaps I exaggerated a little, as 
nothing could give me greater pleasure than to accept his 
present. 

As for Duplay, he received an order of the value of 5,000 
francs, and drank with the Due de Chartres to the health of 
the nation, so that he returned home in the best of spirits, 
rejoiced to have combined, in his morning’s visit, pleasure 
and profit. 


CHAPTEK XXXIX. 

TOUCHING THE PRINCESS LAMBALLE. 

It will easil}’’ he imagined that the event of which I am 
treating was the subject of conversation for fifteen days in 
the house of Duplay in which I was apprentice, in the place 
of Dumont. 

Eelicien, seeing that I entertained for Mdlle. Cornelie and 
Mdlle. Estelle only such aftection as every well-educated 
man ought to have for women, drew in his nails and teeth, 
and became as good a comrade towards me as it was possi- 
ble for him to be. 

Still the revolution marched on with gigantic strides ; the 
flight to Varennes having given it a terrible impetus. 

On the 27th and 2Sth June, the Assembly promulgated 
the following decrees : — 

The gard du corps is disbanded. 


220 


LOVE AND LIFERTY. 


The King will be given a guard, under the command of 
the commander of the Parisian National Guard, to contrib- 
ute to his safety and well being. 

The Queen will have a private guard of her own. 

^^Upon the events of the 21st of June, the Assembly 
will nominate three commissioners, selected from their whole 
body, to receive the declaration of the King and Queen. 

“ The sanction, the acceptance of the King, and all his 
legislative and executive functions, are suspended. 

The ministers are authorized, each in his own depart- 
ment, and on his own responsibility, to assume the execu- 
tive power.” 

The three commissioners were MM. Touche, Dandr^, and • 
Dupont. 

There was, therefore, as can be readily seen, positive 
suspension of the functions of royalty. 

This private guard of the Queen’s was a torment to her 
every day — every hour — every minute. 

We have seen Prudhomme astonished that the Queen, 
having worn-out shoes, should require new ones, and that 
she should consider it indecent to leave open the doors of 
her bath and her bed room. 

In fact, the National Guard, frightened of the responsi- 
bility placed on their shoulders, literally kept the Queen in 
eyesight, and compelled her to keep open the doors of her 
bathing and bed-room. Once, the Queen, inspired with a 
natural feeling of modesty, having drawn the curtains of 
her bed the man on guard drew them back, for fear that 
she should escape by the staircase. On another occasion, 
the King having come to visit her about one in the morn- 
ing, and having shut the door of the apartment — not of the 
Queen, but of his wife — the sentinel thrice opened it, say- 
ing, Shut it as often as you like ; I shall open it every 
time that you shut it ! ” 

Happily, in this misery, the Queen found a friend. 
This friend was the Princess de Lamballe whose history is 
so well known that it is needless for me to touch upon it. 

She was, however, through all vicissitudes, a faithful and 
affectionate friend to the Queen. 

About the commencement of 1791, after the death of 
Mirabeau, the political horizon became so black that the 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


221 


King and Queen, the Count de Fersen, *and Madame 
Elizabeth, all counselled the Princess to fly to Sardinia. 
Even the Pope, Pius the Sixth himself, insisted that she 
should visit Pome, to rejoin the friends of the King, who 
having raised in the Assembly the famous storm concern- 
ing the right of emigration sustained by Mirabeau, had hap- 
pily crossed the frontier ; but she firmly rejected all such 
proposals. 

The Due de Penthievre who loved her as if she were his 
daughter, and the Duchess of Orleans, who admired her 
courage, wished by some means to force her to leave 
Erance. The Due persuaded Louis the Sixteenth to write 
to the Court at Turin, in order that the King of Sardinia, 
as head of the family, should interpose his influence to 
compel the Princess to return to his dominions. 

Here is the reply of the Princess de Lamballe : — 

Sire and Pespected Cousin, — 

I do not remember that any of our illustrious ances- 
tors of the House of Savoy, before or after the great 
Charles Emmanuel, of illustrious memory, ever disgraced 
themselves by an act of treachery. I should do so were I 
to quit the Court of France at this critical juncture. You 
will excuse my refusing your truly royal invitation. The 
shedding of blood, and the madness of the States, alike 
command that one and all should unite their efibrts for the 
preservation of the King and Queen and the royal family 
of France. It is impossible to shake my resolution. I 
have determined, once and for all, never to abandon, at a 
moment when they are forsaken by their oldest servants, 
those who have none to look to but me. 

In happier days, your Majesty can count on my obedi- 
ence ; but to-day, as the Court of France is open m the 
persecutions of its most atrocious enemies, I beg humbly 
the right of following my own instincts of right. At the 
most brilliant epoch of the reign of Marie Antoinette, I 
felt the warmth of royal favor, and can I now abandon 
her? To do so, sire, would be to set the seal of eternal 
infamy not only on my brow, but on those of all my rela- 
tions j and I fear that more than all other torments.” 

It was then that the Queen employed a ruse to get her 
to quit France. 


222 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


She had been sent once before on a mission from the 
Queen to England ; and the inherent grace of the family 
of Savoy — the same which made the Duchess of Burgundy 
so powerful over Louis XIV — enabled her to obtain from 
the King and Queen of England a promise never to forsake 
the King and Queen of France. 

The moment to recall that promise to the English Court 
had arrived. The Queen desired the Princess de Lamballe 
to set out for London, and continue the negotiations 
already so happily commenced. She therefore left Paris, 
and reached England, stopping at Calais, at the famous 
Hotel Dessein,’^ immortalized by Sterne in his Senti- 
mental Journey.’’ 

It was whilst in London that the Princess learnt the 
flight to Varennes, the return of the royal family, and their 
imprisonment in the Tuileries. She sent a young English 
girl, in whom she had the utmost confidence, to Paris. 

This messenger appeared close to the Queen. She had 
come in the name of the Princess, to learn the exact situa- 
tion in which the family were placed. 

The Queen sent her a letter, and a ring, enclosing a lock 
of her hair, as white as if her years numbered eighty. 

On the ring was inscribed, “ Whitened by sorrow.” 

I give, underneath, an exact copy of the letter : — 

“ My Very Dear Friend, — 

The King is about to accept the Constitution. In a 
short time, he will be solemnly proclaimed. A few days 
since, I held a secret consultation in your apartment, with 
some of our most trusty friends, among whom were Alex- 
andre Lameth, Duport, Barnave, Montmarni, Bertrand de 
Malville. These two last combated against the counsel of 
those of the Ministry, and others, who advised the King to 
accept the Constitution immediately, and without restric- 
tions ; but they formed too feeble a minority for me to 
decide, as they wished to pray the King to pay heed to 
their opinion. All the others seemed to think that the con- 
trary measure would re-establish tranquillity, weaken the 
party of the Jacobins, our enemies, and enlarge greatly the 
number of our partizans in the nation. Your absence com- 
pelled me to call Elizabeth to our aid, to clear the Pavilion 
of Flora of spies. She did not acquit herself very well. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


223 


Poor Elizabeth ! you cannot expect much cunning or cir- 
cumspection in a woman so little accustomed to the 
intrigues of a Court, and to the dangers which surrounded 
us. They try to persuade us that we are in no danger. 
Would that it were so, and that I could again open my 
arms and heart freely, to receive my best friend ! Although 
these are the most ardent aspirations of my heart, never- 
theless, my dear, my very dear Lamballe, pay heed to noth- 
ing but your own inspirations. Some people say that they 
see the future brilliant as the sun at mid-day. For my 
part, I confess, it seems covered with clouds. I cannot see 
future events with all the security that I could wish. The 
King, Elizabeth, myself, — in fact, all the family — wish 
much to see you ; but we should be horrified at the thought 
of dragging you into the midst of events equally fearful as 
those you have already witnessed.” 

“ K-eflect, then, and act as you think best. If we cannot 
see you, send us the result of your conferences with the 
Precipice.* Your young English friend will bring you 
plenty of letters. Will you have them sent to their res- 
pective addresses as quickly as possible, either by her, or in 
any other way that you may consider more fitting ? 

Your affectionate 

“ Marie Antoinette.” 

On receiving this letter, the Princess left London, where 
she was in safety, and, without the slightest hesitation, re- 
turned to the Tuileries, to take her place by the side of the 
Queen. 

But whilst Madame de Lamballe was at London, great 
events were taking place in Paris. The letter which we 
have quoted, although undated, is virtually dated, through 
the fact that the Queen speaks of the King’s accepting the 
Constitution ; and it was on the 3rd of September only that 
a deputation from the National Assembly presented the Act 
of the Constitution for the acceptance of the King. 

Let us now retrace our steps a little, and throw a glance 
at that terrible day, the 17th of July — day of the Champs 
de Mars — day of the red flag, which in 1848, furnished 
to M. de Lamartine, one of his most wonderful oratorical 
efforts. 


* A name the Queen gave to Pitt. 


224 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


CHAPTER XL. 

THE TIDE RISES. 

The Queen was right in not viewing events in the same 
light as those who surrounded her. 

Firstly, the struggle was between the Assembly and the 
Court. The Assembly won the day. 

Then it was between the Constitutionals and the Aristo- 
crats. The Constitutionals won the day. Now it was to be 
between the Constitutionals and the Republicans. 

It is true that the Republicans had only just begun to 
appear, but in their first birth they formed this terrible 
principle — No more monarchy ! 

You will remember that the commissioners had been 
appointed by the Assembly to examine Louis XVI. 

These three declared, in the name of their seven com- 
mittees, that they had found no reason to put Louis XVI 
on his trial. 

The Assembly took the opinion of the commissioners, 
but the Jacobin Club refused its sanction to the Assembly. 
The Assembly had then above it a high chamber, which 
could annihilate its decisions with its veto. 

In order to understand the situation and the events about 
to take place, it is necessary to say that at this juncture 
there were oposed to each other, three distinct parties. 

The Royalists who wished the King absolute — that is to 
say, without the Constitution ; the Constitutionals, who 
wished the King with a Constitution ; and the Republi- 
cans, who wished neither King nor Constitution, but a 
republic. 

The Assembly, as we have said, voted that there was no 
necessity to put the King on trial. 

But, through concession to the public feeling, it had 
voted two measures — one preventive, the other repressive. 

This was the repressive measure. 

“ That Bouille, and all servants, officers, couriers, and 
accomplices in the flight, should be prosecuted.” 

This was the preventive measure : — 

That if a king breaks his oath, or attacks, or does not 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


225 


defend, his people, he shall be cast from his throne, become 
a simple citizen, and be tried for the offences committed 
previous to his degradation/’ 

The repressive measure was one of those timid ones 
proper to a decayed Assembly, which feels that its power is 
crumbling away. 

During some days, or, rather, nights, the Jacobin sitting 
became stormy. 

During the sitting, in which the true culprit — that is to 
say, the King — was left alone, in order to arrest and punish 
the minor offenders — that is to say, Bouille, Fersen, the 
gardes du corps, and Madame de Tourzel, — M. Robespierre 
asked in vain to have the report distributed, and the dis- 
cussion adjourned. 

As it was known in advance that the discussion would be 
stormy, Robespierre went to the club. He had been ac- 
cused, at the Assembly, of republicanism, and — mark this 
well, — on the 13th of July 1791, Robespierre did not disdain 
to again avow himself a Republican. 

On that evening, we all went to the Jacobins ; M. Du- 
play and luj’-self in the superior hall, and the three women 
and F^licien in the inferior, where a society was held, called 
the Society of the Two Sexes. 

During my absence from Paris, Robespierre had acquired 
a great popularity, to which he had succeeded by degrees. 
He had still the same voice, though, perhaps, he spoke a 
little stronger than the last time that I had heard him ; and 
I fancied that I noted a marked progress in his intonation, 
but still the same spinning-out of his facts. 

He had just finished his discourse, when a great disturb- 
ance was heard. It was the Cordeliers’ Club, which, in the 
persons of Danton and Legendre, had made an irruption 
among the Jacobins. 

The}' were neither vague nor lengthy in their demands. 

Danton, in an outburst of ironic thunder, demanded how 
the Society dared to take upon itself to pronounce reformed 
opinions before the nation had done so ? Legendre directly 
attacked the King — called to reason the societies who, 
working in an underground manner, underminded the deci- 
sions of the Assembly, and terminated in saying, “ What 
I say is for the good of the Assembly itself.” 

There was almost a menace expressed in these last words. 
14 


226 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


Keeping calm and cold during Robespierre’s speech, M. de 
Laclos, the intendant of the Due d’Orleans, applauded ve- 
hemently Danton and Legendre. 

The Constitutionals of the Assembly got up, and went 
out. 

Danton and Laclos conferred together an instant in a 
whisper ; then a voice was heard, crying, “ Open the doors 
for the public deputies ! ” 

The doors opened, and there entered the fraternal Socie- 
ty of the Halles, and the Society of the Two Sexes, which 
held its meetings in the Lower Hall. They carried address- 
es against the Assembly, or, rather, against the monarchy. 

Preoccupied with Danton and Legendre, I lost a part of 
the thread of what passed at the tribune. A young surgeon 
read a letter, which had been written in the Palais Royal 
in the presence of three hundred persons. A bishop threw 
himself into his arms, and urged him to oppose the deputies. 
Robespierre looked on with his sardonic smile; Danton, 
Legendre, and Laclos with a hateful grin. 

Robespierre saw not what was going on on the other side 
of Paris, but probably Danton knew ; and that was what 
he was recounting in a whisper to Laclos, and what Laclos 
was listening to with such attention. 

On the other side of Paris was a club — a fraternal socie- 
ty, — in the midst of which rested a young man, who was 
secretary to the club, in oblivion. This young man one 
day emerged from his obscurity, to raise around him a 
gigantic storm, after which he again subsided into medioc- 
rity. The name of this young man was Callieu. 

What was Callieu doing in this fraternal society ? Al- 
most nothing. He prepared an address against the Assem- 
bly, signed The People ! ” 

On the day before that evening — how I came to forget to 
mention it, I cannot think, — the 12th of July, there was a 
great disturbance in Paris. All hats were waving in a 
burst of enthusiasm. 

On Sunday, the 10th, the body of Voltaire ought to have 
been removed to the Pantheon, but the weather was unpro- 
pitious ; and there was no fete in Paris, on account of the 
rain. The removal of Voltaire’s corse was therefore post- 
poned till the morrow. 

The triumphal procession entered by the barrier of 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


227 


Charenton ; and accompanied by an immense crowd, drawn 
by horses presented by the Queen, the bier crossed Paris, 
and stopped at the house where the author of the Phi- 
losophic Dictionary ” had died. 

There tliej^ sang choruses to his glory. The Galas family, 
led by Madame de Vilette, laid down crowns on the sar- 
cophagus, before the temple of Flora, which was closed, on 
the pretence of the absence of Madame de Lamballe. 

On the 12th, Voltaire entered the Pantheon. On the 
13th, in the morning, they played a sacred drama, with a 
grand chorus and orchestra, in Notre Dame. It was entit- 
led, Le Prise de la Bastille.” 

. In the evening, Danton and Legendre came to the Jaco- 
bins, and turned out the Constitutionals; whilst at the 
club on the other side of Paris they were signing an address 
against the Assembly. 

On the 14th, the anniversary of the taking of the Bas- 
tille, when a drama was performed on the subject, the 
Bishop of Paris performed mass at the altar of the country 
in the midst of the rain. 

Each day now brought an event. On the evening of the 
15th, the Assembly voted not only that the King should 
be brought to judgment, but that his ofSces should be sus- 
pended until he agreed to swear to the Constitution. 

The Constitutionals carried it. 

The Assembly knew so well that it had committed an 
unpopular act, that it demanded to be protected by Lafay- 
ette and 5,000 men, without counting the National Guard 
and the pikes of the Faubourg St. Antoine. 

The crowd which could not enter — and their name was 
legion — took up a position on the other side of the citizen 
guard, who made a ring round the Biding Hall. 

The moment the vote became known to the crowd, they 
yelled “ Treason ! ” and re-entered Paris by its three great 
arteries, the Boulevards, the Bue St. Honor^, and the street 
which is now known bj" that name. They then began to 
shut the theatres and the houses of play and pleasure, and 
in consequence of the disturbance, the police themselves 
closed two or three theatres. 

Little work was done in these days of ebullition. 
M. Duplay sent me to see what was going on at the As- 
sembly ; I returned to announce to him the triumph of 
the King. 


228 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


“ Good ! ” said he. Let us get over supper quickly, 
and then off to the Jacobins. There will be a disturbance 
there this evening.” 

M. Duplay was right. 

Kobespierre was in the tribune. He attacked, in the 
midst of vociferous plaudits, the vote of the Assembly. 
When he had finished, M. Laclos took his place. You must 
not forget that Laclos was the intendant of the Due d’Or- 
leans. He demanded that a bulletin should be issued, pro- 
claiming the forfeiture. 

“There will be,” said he, “ten million signatures.” 

“ Yes, yes ! ” cried the spectators, with one voice. “ Ten, 
fifteen, twenty millions ! The women and children, even, 
shall be compelled to sign ! ” 

A powerful voice shook the nation. It was Dan ton’s. 
‘For some days the Cordeliers had fraternized with the 
Jacobins, and Dan ton walked with Robespierre. 

“ Only,” said Danton, in a low voice, “ let us have no 
women. They are generally Royalists. They would vote 
for the deposal of a King only in order to raise up another.” 

Saying these words, he stared fixedly at the author of 
“Liaisons Dangereuses.” Not a smile nor a frown ruffled 
the habitually stern features of Laclos. 

Perceiving the silence kept by the Duke of Orleans’ man, 
he added, “ And more, I prefer an address to the adopted 
societies to a public one.” 

Laclos said nothing, but appeared as if listening to some- 
thing outside the building. 

All at once, a large mass of people entered the club. 
They were what were called the Bucks of the Palais Ro^’^al, 
dragging with them about fifty young women of questiona- 
ble character. 

“ Ah, ah ! ” murmured Danton. “ ’Tis a planned 
affair!” 

All the newly-arrived mixed with the Jacobins, crying, 
“ The forfeiture — the forfeiture ! ” 

Laclos ascended the tribune. 

“ You see,” said he, “ ’tis the people — the people who 
desire the forfeiture. A petition is necessary, of which I 
approve.” 

All this immense crowd, who probably had the word, 
cried with one voice, “ The petition— -the petition 1 ” 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


229 


Then, with uproarious enthusiasm, the petition was voted. 
It was agreed that the next day, at eleven o’clock, the 
Jacobins should meet and hear the reading of it, after 
which it would be brought to the Champs de Mars, where 
it was- to be signed by the populace, and thence forwarded 
to the adopted societies. 

During this tumult, M. Duplay had taken hold of my 
arm, and drew me sharply on one side. He then pointed 
me out a woman standing outside one of the tribunes, who 
appeared to be taking the greatest possible interest in what 
was passing. 

Look at that woman,” said he ; it is the Citizen Eoland 
Platriere — a good patriot.” 


CHAPTER XLI. 

CONCERNING THE BILL OF FORFEITURE. 

Madame Roland was very far from having assumed at 
that period the important position that she afterwards held. 
As yet she had never fretted and fumed her hour upon the 
political stage. In fact, she was not yet a minister. I did 
not pay more attention to her than one commonly pays to a 
woman. She appeared to be about thirty years of age, of 
fresh complexion — heat of the blood, if one may say so. 
Her mouth was large, but filled with irreproachable teeth ; 
her hands were large and muscular, but well-shaped ; her 
nose was retrousse ; her figure was good — small waist and 
well-filled hips, but, on the whole, having a decidedly volup- 
tuous tendency. Thus was Madame Roland, in the evening 
of the 15th of July, 1791. 

Just as I was observing her, I heard some one call 
M. Duplay. 

Duplay turned round. It was M. Laclos who called him. 
He held a pen in his hand, and had a sheet of paper on his 
table. M, Brissot was sitting beside him. 

“ My dear Duplay,” said he, “ I was about to write the 
petition for which all are going to vote, but my writing is 
too much like that of the secretary of the Due d'Orleans. 


230 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


There is nothing wrong in the matter, I assure you. Here 
is M. Brissot, a member of the National Assembly, and he 
would not be likely to work against his colleagues. We 
must have some one whose handwriting is unknown. Your 
young man can write, I suppose ? ’’ 

“ Rather, I should say,’’ replied M. Duplay ; he is a 
scholar.” 

“Well,” said Laclos, mildly, “be kind enough to call 
him hither, and tell him what we require. You will dictate, 
Brissot, will you not ? ” 

Feeling sure that the conversation concerned me, I ap- 
proached. 

They told me what was required. It would give me an 
active participation in what was going on, so I was quite 
willing. 

M. Brissot dictated. 

As it was not permitted to make a copy of the peti- 
tion, I can only give it from memory. It was well and 
strongly worded ; it had, metamorphically speaking, two 
heads ; the one reproached the Assembly with timidity, 
and the other accused them of having not dared to 
usurp the King’s so-called prerogative, and asserted, at the 
same time, that the King’s supposed deprivation of his 
regal rights by the Assembly was, in reality, a sham. 

As I was writing these words, Brissot still dictating, 
Laclos arousing himself, placed his hand on Brissot’s 
arm, and said, “ Citizen Brissot, I doubt whether the 
friends of the Constitution, who compose the greater 
number of our club, will sign, unless you make a slight 
alteration in the words, but which will not alter the 
meaning.” 

“ What alteration ?” demanded Brissot. 

“Were I in your place, I would insert, after ^ his 
original dignity^ these words, ^ hy constitutional means.^ ” 

Brissot reflected a moment, and then, with a shrug of 
his shoulders he said, “ I see no objection.” 

Then he continued dictating to me. 

“ By constitutional means' 

I turned round to see whether Robespierre and Danton 
would not make some objection to our employment ; but 
both had gone, and, in fact, the hall was all but empty, so 
that the petition was dictated to space. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


231 


The two editors remarked that the members had retired 
because they felt their presence to be useless, and knew that 
the petition would be read to them on the following morn- 
ing ; but soon an emissary arrived, who spoke in an under- 
tone to M. de Laclos. During this time I again read the 
petition, and then I understood the ponderous significance 
of the five words which had been so aptly added by the well- 
known author of ^^Liasions Dangereuses.” 

The constitutional meanshy which they could replace the 
King, was by placing on the throne the Dauphin, governed 
by a regency ; but the brothers of the King, the Comte 
d’ Artois and the Comte de Provence, being out of Prance, 
the Regent’s office belonged, of right, to the Due d’Orleans, 
who would thus take the same place by the throne of Louis 
XVI as his ancestor had by the throne of his predecessor, 
Louis XV. I asked myself why it was that Brissot never 
thought of that, though I did. But I said to myself that 
perhaps he would not be angry at being hidden behind the 
word constitutional^ as he knew that the petition was his 
own work. 

At this moment, the fears of M. de Laclos appeared to 
be realized. The emissary who had whispered in his ear, 
had come to tell him that the constitutional Royalists of 
the Jacobins, and those of the National Assembly, were go- 
ing to rejoin the Peuillants, and thus separate themselves 
from the pure Jacobin — that is to say, the Republican. 

The two heads of the emigration movement were Du- 
port and Lameth. 

Their intention was to form a new club, composed of 
friends of the Constitution — an aristocratic assemblj’’ where 
none were admitted but by a pass-card, and where the^^ re- 
ceived none but electors, who then stayed with the veritable 
Jacobins — none, with the exception of six or seven dema- 
gogue deputies and the canaille who followed in the steps of 
the Due d’Orleans, and who formed the entire club. 

What is to be done ? ” asked Brissot. They wish to 
have the Assembly to themselves.” 

‘^Good ! ” said Laclos : ^‘but what does it matter as long 
as we have the people on our side ? Let us proceed.” 

Brissot continued his dictation, in which, however, Laclos 
no longer took part. 

On the morrow, Saturday, M. Duplay and myself did not 


232 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


fail to be at the Jacobin club, where were assembled scarce- 
tj" thirty persons. 

They waited an hour ; and at twelve there were assem- 
bled, perhaps, forty. The petition was read and applauded. 
All paid attention to the phrase introduced by M. Laclos, 
and it was decided that the petition should be taken in its 
present form to the Champ de Mars, there to be signed on 
the altar of the country. 

A deputation was organized to carry the petition. M. 
Duplay had work to do at the Palais Royal. He advised 
me to follow the delegates, and then return to report to him 
what had passed. 

We arrived at the Champ de Mars. As the report had 
spread about that the petition would be taken there, thou- 
sands of people had asssembled. 

The altar of the country was surmounted with an im- 
mense picture, representing the apotheosis of Voltaire. 

The delegates mounted almost to the top of the altar, and 
commenced the reading ; but they saw a group approaching, 
whom they recognised as members of the Cordeliers. They 
were received with acclamation, and) on their behalf, the 
reading was again commenced. 

All went well till the phrase introduced by M. Laclos, 

By all constitutional meansP 

“ Pardon,’’ said a voice ; “ would you mind reading that 
passage again ? ” 

The reader continued, “ By all constitutional meansP 

Stop ! ” cried the same voice. 

A man then approached. 

Citizen,” said he, “ my name is Bonneville. I am 
editor of The Mouth of Iron. The people are deceived.” 

Yes, yes, yes !” cried the Cordeliers. 

How deceive the people ? ” said the delegate charged 
with the reading of the petition. 

‘‘ I say, for the second time, that the people are de- 
ceived ! ” cried Bonneville. By all constitutional means^^ 
signifies hy a regency. And what is a regency ? The 
royalty of D’Orleans in the place of the royalty of Louis 
XVI.” 

“ In the place of the royalty of Capet ! ” cried a voice 
that I recognised as having heard before. 

“ How Capet ? ” said a Jacobin. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


233 


‘^Without doubt, replied the same mocking voice. 

Since the nobles no longer have titles — since M. Mirabeau 
called himself only Riquetti — since M. de Lafayette called 
himself only M. Moltier — the King Louis XVI can call 
himself only Capet/^ 

“ Take care,’’ said a Jacobin j France is not yet ripe 
for a republic.” 

If she is not ripe for a republic,” cried Camille Des- 
moulins — for that was the man to whom the voice I recog- 
nised belonged — “how is it that she is rotten for mon- 
archy ? ” 

“ To the vote — to the vote ! ” all cried. 

They voted, and, with almost perfect unanimity, declared 
that the obnoxious phrase should be cut out. Then, in the 
enthusiasm v^hich followed this vote, they all swore nei- 
ther to recognise Louis XVI nor any other King. 

On the morrow, Sunday, it was arranged that the people, 
forewarned by notice posted on the walls, should go to sign 
the petition on the altar. 

“ Still, citizen, we lack one thing.” 

“ What is that ? ” asked Camille Desmoulins. 

“ It is to have the law on our side.” 

“We have it; since the Assembly have suspended the 
King, we have deposed him.” 

“ We must get from the Hotel de Ville an authorization 
to hold the meeting to-morrow.” 

All started for the Hotel de Ville. They had but to keep 
on the quays ; but the distance was rather a lengthy one ; 
but as the refusal of the Mayor might spoil all, and as I 
wushed to give a report to M. Duplay, I went with the 
others to the Hotel de Ville. 

M. Bailly was not there ; he was at the Place Vendome, 
w’atching the proceedings of the Assembly ; but they found 
his substitute, told him of the matter, found him not unwil- 
ling, and demanded a written authorization. He said he 
did not see the necessitj^ — a verbal permission being quite 
sufficient ; that the people were always legal, exercising 
only their right of petition. 

I returned to M. Duplay’s, telling him that the petition 
would be signed to-morrow, and that the signature would 
be approved of by Bailly, or, at least, by his substitute. 

We were ignorant of what was going on in the Assem- 
bly. 


234 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


The Assembly had learnt the decision taken by the Cor- 
deliers and the Jacobins. It would not do to allo\^ the peo- 
ple to take this supremacy upon itself. They appealed to 
Bailly and the municipal council. 

At ten o’clock, Bailly and his council decided that on the 
morrow, Sunday, 17th July, the decree of the Assembly, 
hearing “ that the suppression of executive power should 
last until the Constitutional Act had been presented to, and 
accepted by, the King,” should be fixed at eight o’clock 
punctually, and that proclamation of the decree should be 
with sound of trumpet proclaimed by the huissiers of the 
city. 

Therefore, whoever did not recognise an act proceeding 
from the National Assembly — that is to say, the people’s 
representatives — should be rebels to the law, and should be 
treated as such. 


CHAPTEE XLIL 

WHAT TOOK PLACE BETWEEN THE HAIRDRESSER AND 
THE INVALID. 

We had for neighbor, in the Eue St. Honore, two doors 
lower down than our own, a hair-dresser, named Leger. 
This hair-dresser, like all his confreres, was a staunch Eoy- 
alist. No doubt the reader would ask the reason why hair- 
dressers were all Eoj^alists. 

That is easily explained. 

The hair-dressers’ was one of the corporations that had 
suffered the most in the Eevolution. Those under Louis 
XV, and even under Louis XVI — who had invented such 
fantastic head-dresses, worn by the ladies of the nobility for 
more than half a century — were a body of men not to be 
despised. 

Hair-dressers of this period had a select circle of their own, 
and many privileges, which they would not surrender, even 
on the night of the 4th of August. 

Not only could they mix in the society of the larger cir- 
cles, but had the entrees to the more select boudoirs of the 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 235 

noblesse, and also carried the sword, as was customary with 
gentlemen. 

It is true that this sword, at most times, was of no more 
use than a harlequin’s wand, being but a mere toy. Of 
some, the blades were simply wood, others having no blade 
at all, the handle being attached to the scabbard. 

But for some time past things went from bad to worse 
with this celebrated corporation of hair-dressers. Their so- 
ciety was gradually sinking into oblivion, to them worse 
than death, and Talma had just struck the last blow even to 
the head-dressing of men, by his creation of the character 
of LituSy which had caused his name to be given to the 
fashion of wearing the hair cut short. 

The most desperate enemies of the new government — 
that is to say, the revolutionary government — was, therefore, 
the hair-dressers. 

That was not all. By frequenting the mansions of the 
aristocracy — by holding so often between their hands, for 
more than an hour at a time, the heads of the handsomest 
ladies of the Court — by chatting with the several coxcombs 
whose hair they were in the habit of dressing — by serving 
their noble clients in the character of messengers of love— 
bj’^ becoming the confidantes of the passions of their em- 
ploj^ers — the hair-dressers had become libertines, for the ad- 
vantage of their pockets. 

Now, on Saturday evening, as I have already stated, at 
the very moment when the municipality issued the decree 
against the petitioners, our neighbor Leger came and asked 
M. Duplay to lend him a centre-bit. 

Notwithstanding the difference of opinion which separ- 
ated these two neighbors, the centre bit was at once lent, 
without a single question. 

An Invalid awaited him at the door, to whom he handed 
'it, at the same time exchanging with him some few words, 
and each one went his own way. 

The following was their projected scheme for the next 
day : — 

At this period, when the women commenced to take such 
an active part in the revolution, many beautiful patriots 
intended accompanying their brothers, husbands, and lovers 
to sign tlie petition on the altar of the country. Thanks to 
tlie centre-bit lent by Maitre Duplay, our libertine hair- 


236 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


dresser would be enabled to bore a hole in the platform of 
the altar, under the shelter of which, if he could not see 
the lovely features of the charming patriotic women, he 
could, at least, perceive the interesting proceedings of the 
people. 

Not wishing to enjoy this pleasure alone, the Citizen 
Leger invited an old Invalid to share it with him. The 
Invalid accepted the invitation ; but like a cautious man, 
knowing that they could not feed themselves with their 
eyes, proposed that, in addition to the centre-bit, they 
should take with them eatables and a barrel of water. This 
last step was agreed to by Leger. Accordingly, on the 
morning of Sunday, the 19th, half an hour before the light 
set in, our two gallants might be seen scaling the altar of 
the- country, with their centre-bit and their provisions. 
Upon gaining the platform, they gently lifted one of the 
planks, introduced themselves beneath, replaced the plank, 
and then commenced their work. 

Unfortunatelj’’ for our two curious friends, the fete 
attracted none but themselves. From day-break, the 
Champ de Mars commenced to get animated. The “ mer- 
chands ” of cakes and lemonade, hoping that the patriot- 
ism would hunger and thirst those who signed the docu- 
ment, commenced arriving from all quarters. Tired of 
walking about, one of these women ascended the altar, for 
the purpose of looking at the picture of the triumph of 
Voltaire. While reading the oath of Brutus, of which she 
understood nothing, she felt an instrument piercing the 
sole of her shoe. She immediately cried out for help, and 
declared there were malefactors underneath the altar ; upon 
which a young man went in search of the guard of Gros 
Caillon. The guard, fancying the affair was not worth 
while troubling himself about, refused to stir. 

In the absence of the soldiers, he called the passing 
workmen. These, more sensible to the cries of distress 
than the guard, came with their tools. They set to work, 
without delay, to open the altar, and there they found 
Leger and his companion, in a pretended sleep! They 
were not long, however, bringing them to consciousness, 
when they were commanded to explain the cause of their 
presence there, and to state if their intentions were justifi- 
able, and they were forced to own the truth. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


237 


At that moment, a curious individual dropped himself 
tinder the altar, to see what it was like, and there found 
the barrel of water. Mistaking this for powder, he rushed 
forth, crying, with all his might, that the two prisoners had 
intended blowing up the altar, as well as those who would 
find themselves thereon. The hair-dresser and Invalid cried 
loudly that it was water, and not powder, and that, by 
breaking the barrel, they would arrive at the truth ; but 
the truth was too simple. They thought it more natural 
to strangle the two unfortunate men, or decapitate them, 
and promenade their heads on the top of a pike. 

At this stage of the proceedings, the bailiffs of the muni- 
cipality arrived, and proclaimed the arrest of the Mayor. 
They then proceeded towards the Roule, but were overtaken 
at the top of Rue St. Honore by the crowd carrying the 
heads of the two supposed assassins on the top of their 
pikes. I fancied that I could recognise one of these as that 
of a neighbor ; it turned out to be that of the poor hair- 
dresser, who came the preceding night to borrow the 
centre-bit from M. Duplay. I could scarcely believe my 
eyes. What crime could they possibly be guilty of? I 
called M. Duplay. There must have been a strange accent 
in my voice ; for, with the exception of my grandmother, 
who was always occupied reading and re-reading her volume 
of the “ Arabian Nights,’^ the whole family rushed towards 
me ; the women shrieked with terror, but one was begin- 
ning to get accustomed to these sorts of spectacles, and, by 
degrees, they risked looking. 

Every one recognised Leger. 

What had he done ? 

We inquired. They were two great criminals, who had 
intended blowing up the altar of the country, and those 
who might he on it. 

Others said they were two National Guards, who were 
beheaded by the people for attempting to enforce the exe- 
cution of the law. 

The noise spread in the Assembly. Duport, who, with 
Charles Lameth, separated himself from the Republican 
Jacobins, was then President. He was not backward in 
accusing his late colleagues of the crime. 

“ Gentlemen,^’ said he, to the Assembly, “ Two good 
citizens have just perished on the Champ de Mars for hav 


238 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


ing said to a deluded mass that they must not break the 
laws of their country — they were hanged on the spot.’’ 

^^’Tis true ! ” cried Regnault de St. Jean d’Angely. “ I 
confirm that news; they were two National Guards. Gen- 
tlemen, I demand martial law. It is the duty of this As- 
sembly, gentlemen, to pronounce all persons attempting to 
exort the people to resist, either by personal acts, or b}" col- 
lective or individual writings, guilty of treachery to the 
nation.” 

This was just what the Assembly desired, composed, as 
it was, principally of Royalists and Constitutionalists, and 
in which the Republicans — that is to say, those who upheld 
the petition, and, consequent!}’', wished for the dethrone- 
ment of the King — were to be found in a very small num- 
ber. 

It was therefore decreed that the President of the As- 
sembly, and the Mayor of Paris, should inquire into the 
real state of affairs, in order to take rigorous measures if 
events passed as were reported. 

They did not give themselves the trouble to inquire into 
the truth, but took the measures. Robespierre then left the 
Assembly without saying a word, rushed to the Club of the 
Jacobins, to announce to them the news. 

At the club he found nearly thirty persons ; they all 
tumultuously voted the withdrawal of the petition, and Lan- 
terre was despatched to the Champ de Mars to take posses- 
sion of it. 

Such was the state of affairs when M. Duplay returned 
from the Jacobins, and asked where were his wife and 
daughters. 

He was told they were gone with Felicien to the Champ 
de Mars to see the petition signed. 

“ Not an instant is to be lost ! ” cried M. Duplay. If 
the petition is not withdrawn in time, there will most cer- 
tainly be a row, perhaps firearms used ! Quick ! — let us on 
to the Champ de Mars ! ” 

We left the house to the care of Catherine and the old 
grandmother and set off in haste for the Porte St. HonorA 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


289 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

THE RED FLAG. 

Upon our arrival, the Champ de Mars presented an 
aspect of the most profound tranquillity. 

A strong detachment of troops, with two or three pieces 
of cannon, which had been stationed there in consequence 
of the assassination which had taken place in the morning, 
seeing that nothing extraordinary took place, gradually with- 
drew, leaving the place to three or four hundred inoffensive 
strollers, and a small group of men, to whom no one paid 
the slightest attention, hut which, like many small clouds, 
contained a terrific tempest. 

This group seemed to have as leaders two strange-looking 
individuals. One of these creatures, whose name was Ver- 
rieres, was a fantastic-looking hunchback. He had not 
been seen since the 5th and 6th of October, when he 
had made himself conspicuous at Versailles. He reap- 
peared, however, on the night before our present date. 

The other was from the department of Auvergne, and 
called Fournier, the American, because he had been over- 
seer 'of a negro plantation in St. Domingo. 

He held in his hand a firelock. 

The miserable creatures who were listening to the ha- 
rangue of these two men were a sort of human larva, aris- 
ing none knew from where. 

On entering the Champ de Mars we threw a glance 
around, to see if we could recognise, in the midst of these 
three or four hundred strollers, the four persons we came 
in search of. At that moment, it was all the easier to do 
so, as every one was following Lanterre to the altar of the 
country. We followed as the rest. Lanterre announced 
to the patriots, with a voice which suited admirably these 
sort of proceedings, that the petition placed there the pre- 
ceding night could not be signed, as, at the moment this 
petition was written, it was supposed that the Assembly 
had not yet decided the fate of the King, but that, since 
then, they had recognised his innocence and inviolability 
in the sitting of the night before. The Jacobins, he con- 
tinued, intended occupying themselves with the forming a 


240 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


new petition, which they would, ere long, present for signa- 
ture. 

This declaration was received with murmurs. 

Why should we await the presentation of a petition 
already 'formed ? Don’t we know, as well as Messieurs 
Brissot, Laclos, and Bobespierre, what we want ? ” said an 
enormous man, of about forty years of age, a young and 
beautiful woman leaning on his arm. “We can also 
write,” added he, with a smile ; “ and I might even say 
that we commence to think.” 

“ No oiie hinders you. Citizen Bohert,” said Lanterre, 
who was, probably, not annoyed at the interruption. “ You, 
and, above all, the Citizen Keralio, whose dear little arm 
you have the extreme felicity of squeezing within your 
own, are more capable of success than an}^ one else. In 
the meantime, I take possession of the one made by the 
Society.” 

So saying, Lanterre placed in his pocket the petition 
written by me, dictated by Brissot, amended by Laclos, and 
definitely corrected by Beimeville and Camille Desmoulins. 

“ With all this, I neither see my wife nor my daugh- 
ters,” exclaimed M. Duplay. 

“ I have an idea,” replied I, “ that, having * required 
some refreshments, she went to some cafe with F^licien.” 

“We require pen, ink, and paper,” said the citizen 
whom Lanterre had called Bobert, “ which we will find at 
the first stationer’s.” 

“Would you wish me to go and fetch it for you?” said 
a red-headed individual, with a strong German accent. 

“ But,” said a strange voice, “ do you think you can 
spare time to go such a distance ? How would it he, in the 
meantime, if the Queen required your services ? ” 

“ The Queen ! — the Queen ! ” demanded the people from 
all sides, and at the same time fixing their eyes on the man 
with the red hair. 

“Yes. Why, the Citizen Weder is the valet-de-chambre 
of the Queen, and has come here, prohahl}^, to see what 
was going on, so that he might be enabled to carry it to her 
Majesty. If I make a mistake, and you are not the Citizen 
Weder, sa}'' what your name is.” 

“ My name is Chaumette, a medical student, of No. 9, 
Bue Mazarine. Let every one do as I have done, and 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


241 


make known his name, then we shall be acquainted with 
who are our friends, and who are our enemies.” 

Yes, yes, let every one say who he is,” said a man of 
about eight-and-twenty, whose black beard seemed to have 
added to the sternness of his features. My name • is 
Brune, a typographical worker ; and, if futurity could be 
seen into,” he might have added, ^‘a future Marshal of 
France.” 

“ And if you want a printer for your petition, here am I, 
Momoro, the printer of liberty ! ” 

And I, Hebert, journalist/ Kue Mirabeau.” 

Then succeeded such tumultuous uproar of men shriek- 
ing their names with all their force, that one could scarcely 
distinguish those of Benouard, Lagarde, Moreau, Henriot, 
Laschereau, and David. 

When this tempestuous noise ceased, the man named 
Weder had disappeared. 

M. E-obert,” said I to him who had offered to frame the 
text of the petition, “ I have some business in yonder caf&^ 
where I fancy I can distinguish some of my friends, whence 
I will proceed to the nearest stationer’s, and bring you 
back everything that is necessary for writing purposes.” 
Then I added to M. Duplay, “Follow me with your eyes, 
sir ; and if, as I believe, those are the ladies we are in 
search of, I will make you a sign with my pocket- 
handkerchief.” 

As I had fancied, it was Madame Duplay and her 
daughters. I told them where I had left M. Duplay, and 
asked them to go and meet him at the altar of the country. 
I then proceeded to the stationer’s, and bought two or three 
sheets of paper, knowing very well that if even there was 
only one sheet required for the petition itself, there would 
be one hundred or one hundred and fifty signatures. I 
also bought a bottle of ink and a packet of pens already 
cut. 

When returning, I met with M. Duplay and his family. 
This gentleman, fearing some serious disorder, was taking 
his family home by the nearest road — that is to say, by the 
Invalides. Before separating with him, though, I promised 
that if anything grave took place, I would return with a 
full account to the house. 

15 


242 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


I now hastened to the altar, where I was impatiently 
awaited. 

I have already mentioned the names of Robert and Mad- 
emoiselle Keralio. Notwithstanding how well posted we 
are at the present moment in the history of the Revolution, 
very few persons are acquainted with the very prominent^ 
part taken by these two persons in the proceedings of that 
terrible day, the 17th of July, which killed with the one 
blow the absolute royalty, which it ought to have raised 
from its low position, and the constitutional royalty, which 
it ought to have upheld, and which, directed against the 
Jacobins, whom it ought to have extinguished, gave them, 
on the contrary, an additional strength. 

Robert, as I have said, w^as an enormous man, of forty or 
forty-five years of age. Being a member of the Club of 
the Cordeliers, he vainly searched with his eyes some of his 
colleagues of reputation. Either by accident, or otherwise, 
he did not succeed in finding a single one of these. On 
the Saturday evening, Danton was obliged to join a meet- 
ing in the wood of Vincennes, and thence he went on to 
Eontenoy, where his father-in-law was a street vender of 
lemonade. Legendre had left about the same time, with 
Camille Desmoulins, and Eeron. A meeting had been 
arranged at Eontenoy, by Danton, and all four dined there 
together. 

A great responsibility was, therefore, about to be placed 
on the shoulders of Robert ; he would be obliged to repre- 
sent alone, or nearly so, the entire Club of the Cordeliers. 
We must, however, agree that he accepted his position 
bravely. The Club of the Jacobins was totally out of the 
question, since Lanterre, in the name of the Society, had 
come and withdrawn the petition. 

As to the wife of Robert, Mademoiselle Keralio was a 
young lady — very gay, lively, talented. She was a Breton, 
and daughter of a Chevalier de St. Louis, called Guniemeut 
de Keralio. As inspector of the military colleges of 
Erance, he had, on paying a visit to the college at Brienne, 
given a favorable account of a young Corsican, named 
Bonaparte — he who afterwards became the Great Napoleon. 

His calling not being sufficient for the support of hia 
famil}^, he made translations, and wrote for several journals, 
among others for the Mercure, and Journal des Savants. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


243 


His daughter assisted him to the best of her powers. At 
eighteen 3’^ears of age, she wrote a novel, called Ade- 
laide ; ’’ then the History of Elizabeth,’’ a long and 
serious w'ork ; afterwards she married Eobert, a great 
friend of Camille Desmoulins, and an enemy of Lafayette, 
who had written a book, entitled, “ Eepublicanism adapted 
to France.” Not less patriotic than her husband, Madame 
Eobert had come with him to add her signature to the 
petition, declaring that France neither recognised Louis XVI 
nor any other King; and seeing that it had been with- 
drawn, she was the first to advise her husband to draw up 
another. 

I had no sooner arrived on the spot with my pens, ink, 
and paper, than she snatched them from my hands with 
such gracious vivacit}', that I could really say nothing, but 
thank her. She then handed a pen to her husband, who 
was not very clever at composition. 

Write, write,” said she, “ what I dictate.” 

Then, amidst thunders of applause, and while consulting 
some with her eyes, and others with words and signs, she 
set to work to dictate, clearly, and with much eloquence, a 
petition for the dethronement of the King, which was at 
the same time a violent charge against royalty. 

The afiair was done, and well done, in less than three- 
quarters of an hour. 

Eobert, who had written the petition, signed it first and 
passed the pen to his neighbor. 

Every one wished for the pen. I had a packet, which I 
distributed ; and as it would take too long for them to sign 
one after the other, so dense had the mass become, the idea 
struck me to distribute the three extra sheets of paper, 
each of which could contain two hundred signatures. 

No doubt, the assembly had heard from Weder what was 
going on on the Champ de Mars. The situation was 
grave ; for if the people broke the decrees of the Assembly, 
it would cease being the first power of the State. 

There was not a moment to be lost. The meeting would 
have to be dissolved, and the petition destroyed at all 
risks ; the more so, as every instant the mob was becoming 
more and more numerous ; not from the side of Paris, 
where it was made known to all, that, by proceeding to the 
Champ de Mars, they would be guilty of an act of rebel- 


244 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


lion, but from the village of D’Yssy, Vaugirard, Sevres, 
St. Cloud, and Boulogne, where they were foretold of the 
reunion, and had not heard of any counter-petition. They 
flocked to it, as to a fete. 

The intentions were good, although nothing was easier 
than to accuse them of being bad. The Assembly — duped 
either by mistake, or profiting by the occasion — sent a mes- 
sage to the Ma3"or, announcing that a band of fifty thous- 
and robbers were congregated in the Champ de Mars, and 
were about to march upon the Salle du Manege. 

They called to their protection a military’ bod^r, and gave 
the order to Bailly to disperse the brigands by force. 
Bailly, who was not aware of the goings on, and who 
should, before all other things, obey the orders of the As- 
sembly, forewarned Lafa^'ette, and sounded the alarm. 

In these times, the paid guard, strongly addicted to aris- 
tocratic — or, rather, Lafayettish — principles, for it was 
nearly entirely composed of the conquerors of the Bastille, 
were always the first to answer such a call. 

This body, perfectly armed and perfectly commanded, 
were exasperated at the injuries they received from the 
Democratic journals, and particularly the Friend of the 
People, of Marat, in which he called them the spies of La- 
fayette ; and one one day demanded their noses to be cut 
off, another day their ears, and even hinted at finishing 
witli them altogether with the assistance of the guillotine. 

They applauded vociferously, when suddenly the red flag 
was seen to float from the balcony of the Hotel de Ville, 
which was a signal to all the loyal citizens of the town of 
their help, and never did they require help more than on 
this occasion. 

In the midst of these cries, the Mayor, who was pale as 
the day on which he marched to the scaffold, descended the 
Place de Greve, and placed himself at the head of a 
column of the National Guard. Lafa3’^ette, at the head of 
another column, followed the left bank of the Seine, while 
Bailly took the right bank. 

The red flag was unhooked, and followed the column, 
beaded by the Ma3^or. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


245 


CHAPTEK XLIV. 

THE MASSACRE OF THE CHAMP DE MARS. 

We thought hut little of the danger we were running at 
the Champ de Mars, and knew nothing whatever of what 
was going on at the Hotel de Ville. The crowd was noth- 
ing more than an ordinary Sunday crowd. No weapons 
whatever were to be seen, save the sabres hanging to the 
belts of some stray National Guards, who might be taking 
a walk with their wives and children. Madame Roland 
says, in her “ Memoirs,” that she remained there till ten 
o’clock. 

The only extraordinary proceeding that took place was 
that on the altar. 

They continued to sign the petition with a vigor that 
promised twelve or fifteen hundred signatures before night- 
fall. Generally the person signing cried out, ^‘Yive la 
nation ! Down with royalty ! ” threw his cap up in the 
air, and ceded the place to another. 

Two contrary currents were established on the north, 
south, and east sides of the altar of the country, between 
the persons ascending and the persons descending. The 
height of the altar was immense — that it is to say, about 
one hundred feet. At about four o’clock in the afternoon, 
it presented the aspect of an enormous hive, swarming with 
bees. 

At a few minutes past four o’clock, we heard the drums, 
but paid little attention to them, the affair of the hair- 
dresser and Invalid having for some time escaped the mem- 
ory of every one. In Paris, one soon forgets the events 
which are of but little interest to remember. There was 
simply a movement of curiosity on the altar, where two 
thousand people were seated, and on the ground of the 
Champ de Mars, where some ten to twelve thousand were 
walking. 

These drums were those of a battalion of the advanced 
guard of the Faubourg St. Antoine. This battalion was 
totally misinformed of what was taking place in the Champ 
de Mars. They had received an order from Bailly and La- 


246 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


fayette to fire in case of any resistance being made, but 
only in case of resistance. 

Before entering the Champ de Mars, the command was 
given to halt, and load their guns. They thought they 
would have to face some fifty thousand brigands, determined 
on bloodshed and pillage. 

They found, on the contrary, an inoffensive population 
amusing itself. 

The battalion halted a second time ; but, as they did not 
find what they were in search of, they put their guns in 
clusters, and sent a few unarmed grenadiers to see what 
was passing on the altar of the country. These came hack, 
saying that they were signing a petition in the greatest 
possible order, and without the slightest noise. 

The people walking in the Champ de Mars did not, on 
their side, pay the slightest attention to the arrival of the 
military from the Faubourg St. Antoine. 

But about the same time, the drums of Gros Caillon and 
the Cours la Reine were heard calling to arms. 

From Gros Caillon it was Lafayette, and from Cours la 
Heine, Bailly, who arrived with the National and paid 
Guards. 

Lafayette sent, in advance, an aide-de-camp and a hundred 
armed men, to find out what was really passing in the 
Champ de Mars. But from the group, which I have 
already mentioned as having been commanded by Verrieres 
and Fournier, a gun-shot was seen, to proceed, which 
wounded the aid-de-camp of Lafayette. 

The advance guard returned to Lafayette, and the aide- 
de-camp, bleeding, made his report on the manner in which 
he was received. 

To him, wounded as he was on his entry into the Champs, 
all the inoffensive strollers appeared to be brigands. 

Lafayette placed himself at the head of the three thou- 
sand men he commanded, and marched on the Champ de 
Mars. 

He found Fournier, Yerrieres, and those they led, busily 
engaged in raising a barricade. He marched straight up to 
the barricade, and destroyed it. From under a cart, Four- 
nier, the American, fired through one of the wheels on La- 
fayette. 

The gun missed fire. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 247 

Fournier, the American, was taken, and charged with 
revolt and homicide. 

The National Guard would have shot him on the spot, 
had not Lafayette torn him from their hands, and rendered 
him his liberty. 

The most curious of all was, that this bloody day was 
caused by these two bloodthirsty men, Lafayette and 
Bailly. 

The battalion from the Faubourg St. Antoine and Marias 
entered the Champ at the same time as Lafayette, and 
ranged themselves behind the altar, in front of the Military 
College. 

Lafayette, fearing that these might sympathise with the 
people, sent a detachment of the National Guard to join 
them. 

At this moment the promenaders, and those who were 
signing the petition on the altar, preoccupied, but not 
alarmed, at the sort of collision which had taken place 
between the National Guard and the defenders of the bar- 
ricade, saw, advancing by the Bridge of Bois (to-day the 
Bridge of Jena) another body of the army, headed by the 
Mayor, and over the heads of which floated the red flag. 

This red flag informed us that martial law was pro- 
claimed. 

Against whom ? 

It could not be against those who were guilty of no 
wrong, and who were simply walking by right of the 
petition accorded to every citizen. 

In the midst of the troop following the Mayor were to he 
distinguished a company of dragoons. The dragoons were 
well known to be an aristocratic regiment, being used to 
firing on the people. Also a band of hair-dressers, armed to 
the teeth, with their hair dressed a Vaile de 'pigeon^ and 
clad in the height of fashion. Their clothes were of silks 
and satin, and of every color in the rainbow. 

They came, no doubt, to avenge the death of that unfor- 
tunate poor fellow, Leger. 

The group which had opposed the entrance of Lafayette 
had gone and reformed themselves a little further off. 
They were joined by all the blackguards of the quarter. 

At the moment when, after a roll of drums, M. Bailly 
commenced his declaration, a shower of stones fell around 


248 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


him. A gnn was fired behind him at the same time, and 
wounded a dragoon. 

Bailly gave the order to fire a round of blank cartridge 
in the air. The order was executed. This inoffensive dis- 
charge injured no one, but had the effect of making La- 
fayette think that it was real. 

The promenaders nearly all rushed towards the altar of 
the country, fancying that they, as simple spectators, could 
not be fired upon without there having first been a sum- 
mony to disperse. 

At this moment, the Champ de Mars was invaded by cav- 
alry. 

The promenaders vainly search for an issue to re-enter 
Paris. 

At all sides, nothing but troubles present themselves to 
our view ; at the Military College, at Gros Caillon, at the 
entrance to the wood. 

Almost immediately the paid guards made an offensive 
movement towards the altar. Abandoning the hostile 
group, which continued to shower stones on their heads, 
they dashed themselves distractedly and furiously against 
the altar ; and, without an attack, without provocation or re- 
sistance, fired on this mass of brothers — this living pyramid, 
this human beehive, of which two-thirds were composed of 
defenceless women and children. 

The hurricane of fire fell on this disarmed throng, who 
only replied by heart-rending cries of agony. The three 
faces of the altar were covered with the dead and wounded 
bodies of the unfortunate victims. 

From the height of the pyramid where I found myself— 
between Robert and his wife, — I perceived that the artillery 
were about to make fire on the people with the cannon, at 
the risk of firing on the cavaliers and paid guard, when 
Lafayette perceiving the movement, dug the spurs into his 
horse, and galloped to the mouth of the cannon, where he 
placed himself. 

The first cry of Madame Robert was — “’Tis on the pe- 
titioners they would fire ! Let us save the petition ! Then 
addressing herself to me, she said, “Help me, monsieur- 
help me ! 

It was no longer a question of signing ; every one pre- 
cipitated himself by the only side of the altar which had 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


249 


not been fired upon — that is to say, the side facing the 
Military College, and which was protected by the battalions 
of the Faubourg St. Antoine and Marais. Both the peti- 
tion and the sheets, covered with signatures, were seen to 
fly before the wind. 

Madame Eobert took possession of the petition, whilst 
her husband and I collected about a hundred sheets of sig- 
natures. 

We then descended by the west side of the altar. 

Around us, seven or eight persons had been killed or 
wounded. 

A hundred and fifty, at least, fell before this first dis- 
charge. 

In descending this immense staircase, I lost Eobert and 
his wife. The National Guards of the Faubourg St. An- 
toine and Marais cried, “Come with us — we will defend 
you ! ” 

I rushed to their sides ; the dragoons set out in pursuit 
of us ; but the battalion of the Marais opened their ranks 
to us, and prepared to receive them with the bayonet. An 
aide-de-camp came up, and ordered this battalion to march 
forward, and make a junction with the other troops. The 
aide-de-camp was killed. None obeyed this order but the 
paid guards. 

The battalion, or rather, the two battalions, of National 
Guards, formed themselves into two columns, sent out scouts, 
so as to protect any fugitives who might come and ask for 
shelter in their ranks, and marched from the Champ de 
Mars, leaving this horrible butchery to be completed with- 
out their assistance. 


CHAPTEE XLV. 

ROBESPIERRE PAYS A VISIT TO M. DUPLAY. 

I HAD no sooner quitted this frightful scene of bloodshed, 
than, thanking my saviors, I sprang forward towards the 
river, in order to cross it by boat, or, if there was a neces- 
sity, to swim it. 


250 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


The affair seemed to me grave. There must have been 
some treachery on foot, of which, in my mind the Jacobins 
ought to be instructed. • 

There happened to be, in a boat anchored to the river’s 
bank, a man fishing, who did not disturb himself, notwith- 
standing the thundering of the cannon. 

Nothing ever disturbs a man fishing. To untie the rope, 
jump into the boat, and take possession of the oars, was 
but the work of a few moments. I had nearly half-way 
crossed the river before he recovered from his astonishment 

At length, he demanded what I meant by this violence, 
both to himself and to his boat ? I showed him a paper, 
and said, An order from General Lafayette.” That was 
sufficient 

I jumped out on the right bank, leaving the boat, with 
its owner, to regain the left. 

Once on solid ground, I took to my heels, and by Cours 
la Reine, and the Porte St. Honors, I set out for M. Du- 
play’s house as fast as my legs could carry me. 

From Cours la Reine to the Church of the Assomption, 
in front of which M. Duplay lived, I found the streets 
greatly agitated and full of people. 

The red flag, the Mayor, the dragoons, and the paid 
guard were seen to pass ; then, again, they had heard the 
terrible discharge of musketry ; so that seeing me come 
from the Champ de Mars, running, the perspiration drop- 
ping off me, and all covered with blood, every one inquired 
of me the whole way along, — What is the matter ? ” 

I had but one reply to make, and that while I was run- 
ning. 

“ The dragoons and the paid guard are slaughtering the 
people ! ” 

I found M. Duplay at his door, surrounded by a group of 
neighbors and acquaintances. I related to him all that 
had taken place. 

Oh, ho ! ” said he ; “ the Jacobins must be informed of 
this. Quick ! — let us run to the club ! ” 

About fifty members awaited the news with impatience. 
They had, as yet, heard nothing. I was the first messen- 
ger of the mournful intelligence. 

They said that M. Robespierre must at once be informed, 
and a messenger was despatched to the Assembly to fetch 
him. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


251 


The Jacobins knew one fact, and that was, that all the 
blame would be left on their shoulders. It was they who 
had taken the initiative in the affair of the petition. The 
Constitutionals, who had separated from them, in order to 
form the new' clubs Feuillants, washed their hands of this 
popular movement in opposition to the decree of the 
Assembly. 

They thanked M. Dupla}’^ and myself, and refused to 
recognise any petition tending to the dethronement of the 
King. Everything was circulated in the name of the 
Assembly, and the society swore anew fidelity to the Con- 
stitution and submission to the decrees of the Assembly. 

After what had presented itself to my view the preced- 
ing days, and after what I had written at the dictation of 
Citizen Brissot, I found this submission too prompt. There 
was at the bottom of it all an abandonment of the rights 
of the people, and a cowardice which disgusted me. 

I left the club, and returned pensively to the house. 

A half an hour or so after, might be heard a great dis- 
turbance tow'ards the Place Louis XV. 

It w^as the paid guard, who were re-entering Paris by 
the Rue St. Honor^ to have an occasion to make a demon- 
stration against the Jacobins. 

One had hardly the time to form palisades. 

The paid guard collected themselves before the Convent, 
demanding powder to blow the gate and demolish the den 
of the Republicans. They were laughed at; they were 
applauded ; they were hissed. The street was full of peo- 
ple, looking at one another, ready to come to blows. 

It w'as plain to be seen that one of those misunderstand- 
ings had taken place which places the gun to one’s shoul- 
der w'ithout one’s knowing upon whom to fire. 

All at once, I could perceive, in the Rue Luxembourg, a 
mail gliding down the street, with an evident desire to pass 
unnoticed. 

I pulled my master’s coat, and whispered to him, “The 
Citizen Robespierre. 

It was indeed none other but he, who had been sent to 
the Assembly, and who had arrived there just in time to 
have the door shut on his nose. 

It was evident that if he was recognised by the paid 
guard; he would run the risk of being shot. 


252 


LOYE AND IJBERTY. 


He was at this moment recognised by a group of persons, 
and cheered. No doubt, they were Jacobins. 

He quickened his pace, descending the street, to gain 
speedily the Faubourg St. Honore. 

At the Kue de Luxembourg, several cries were raised of 
Vive Kobespierre ! 

He turned pale, and hesitated whether to take the Lux- 
embourg or continue his road. He continued. 

“ Vive Robespierre ! ” again cried a man. And since 
it is absolutely necessary to have a King, why not have 
him ? ” 

Robespierre thought himself lost. He looked on all sides 
for shelter. 

Duplay rushed towards him. 

At my house — at my house, citizen ! ” said he. My 
name is Duplay ! I am master carpenter, and a good 
citizen ! ” 

Yes, yes — at our house ! ” said Madame Duplay and 
Mademoiselle Cornelie. 

And all three — the man and the two women — surrounded 
Robespierre, who, without the slightest resistance, allowed 
himself to be led into the alley. 

I entered last, and locked the door. 

The retreat was effected so prudently, that hardly a soul 
had perceived the manoeuvre. 

Those that did see him said nothing, so that no noise was 
made at the door. 

Robespierre was extremely pale. He sat down, or rather 
fell, on the first chair that came in his way. Mademoiselle 
Cornelie wiped his forehead with her pocket handkerchief, 
while Madame Dnplay brought him a glass of fresh water. 

I placed the glass to his lips, but his hand shook so, that 
he made the glass chink against his teeth. 

However he drank, looked around him, tried to smile, and 
said, “ I see that I am with friends.” 

“ Say, rather, with admirers — with devoted admirers ! ” 
replied M. Duplay. 

“ Oh, yes ! ” replied the three women. 

“ Oh, if I had known it,” said M. Duplay, I would not 
have allowed you to present yourself at the National As- 
sembly.” 

How so ? ” said Robespierre. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


253 


“Yes ; it was Rene/’ — M. Duplay pointed me out, — “it 
was Rene, a good young man, a staunch patriot, and a friend 
of M. Drouet de St. Menehould, who, you know, arrested 
the King; it was Rene who came and announced the mas- 
sacre on the Champ de Mars. We have but one bond to 
the Jacobins, and, as I belong to the club ” 

“ Ah, I now recognise you,” said Robespierre. 

“ Then it was decided to go and fetch you.” 

“And I arrived just in time to see the gates shut. Kot 
wishing to return home, at the bottom of the Marais, I was 
going to get a little shelter at the house of Potion, who 
lives in the Faubourg St. Honor6. You came across me on 
my road, and brought me here. I ask permission to remain 
here all night. Surrounded by the spies of Lafayette, and 
satellites of Bailly, the life of an honest man runs great 
danger. I do not fear death, but my ambition is to die in 
a way useful to my country.” 

I assisted at this scene without the slightest emotion. 
It seemed to me a great honor to address this great man. 

“ Then,” said he, “ you are the friend of the Citizen 
Drouet ? ” 

“ He cared for me like a father,” said 1. “ The little 

I know I owe to him and to Rousseau.” 

“ Ah, young man, you have Rousseau ? ” 

“ I know him by heart.” 

“ Good master — great master ! I, also, was his scholar, 
and I hope to do him credit one of these days.” 

Duplay and his wife listened with their mouths open, 
nearly on their knees. 

For some time, Duplay seemed as if he wished to ask a 
question. His wife and he had exchanged two or three sig- 
nificant glances. 

“ Would the Citizen Robespierre do us the honor of sup- 
ping with us ? ” 

“ I would not trouble you so much,” said Robespierre. 
“ And then, again, my sister would be anxious.” 

“ But you were going to sup with the Citizen Petion.” 

“Yes; but from Potion’s I could have let my sister 
know.” 

“ Very well ; she can be informed from here as well.” 

“ Have you any person certain ? ” 

“ There is me, citizen,” said I. 


254 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


Would you have that kindness ? ” 

‘‘I will be only too happy to render this service to 
M. Duplay.” 

“ Then have the goodness to give me pen, ink, and pa- 
per.” 

The two young girls brought him the pen and paper. 

He wrote, in a small hand, the following : — 

“ Mt Sister, — 

Don’t be uneasy. I am in safety. 

Your brother, 

Maximilian.” 

He then sealed his letter, and wrote the address in a bold 
hand, which reminded me greatly of his character, — 

To Mdlle. Charlotte de Robespierre. 

No. 1 Rue Saintange 

At the Marais, 

I took the letter, and went on my mission. 


CHAPTER XL VI. 

INSTALLATION. 

I HAVE already said that nature had gifted me with 
strong legs, and it was in days like the present that I ap- 
preciated the gift. 

As yet, I knew not sufficient of Paris to be enabled to 
extricate myself from the labyrinth of streets which joined 
the Rue St. Honore, and which stretched from the Rue 
Aubry le Boucher to the Rue Boucherat, so that I spent 
six or seven minutes in making the necessary inquiries, and 
at last arrived. 

I saw a sombre house in a sombre street. It was No. 7. 
I mounted a dark-looking staircase, and arrived at the 
second floor. 

Three doors opened on the landing : one of them bore an 
inscription : — 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


255 


Le Citoyen Maximilian de Robespierre, et Depute ^ 
I’Assemblee Rationale.’’ 

I knocked. 

I heard footsteps approaching the door, and then stop 
cautiously. 

“ Is it you, Maximilian ? ” asked a voice, in which could 
be discerned traces of emotion. 

“ No, mademoiselle,^’ I replied ; but I bring news of 
him.” 

The door was quickly opened. 

“Nothing has happened to him? ” asked a stately female 
of about forty years. 

“ Here are a few words to reassure you,” I replied. 

I then handed her the letter. 

It was too dark for her to be enabled to read it in the 
passage on the landing. 

Mademoiselle de Robespierre re-entered the apartmentj 
inviting me to follow her. 

I entered a sort of dining-room, opening on a study and 
bedroom. 

All was cold, cheerless, and almost unfurnished. If not 
actually miserable, it was far below mediocrity. * 

Mademoiselle Robespierre read her brother’s letter. 

“ When my brother thinks it needless to tell me where 
he is, he has his reasons. You have seen him, sir ? ” 

“ I have just left him, mademoiselle.” 

“ Nothing has happened to him ? ” 

“ Nothing.” 

“ Give him my congratulations, sir, and thank for me 
those people who have been hospitable to him. I would 
that, after the long walk you have had, I could offer you 
refreshment ; but my brother is so sober, and has such few 
wants, that we have naught but water in the house.” 

At this moment, the tramp of footsteps was heard in the 
corridor. A woman showed herself at the door of the 
dining-room, and, dimly, a man could be perceived behind 
her. 

Despite the semi-darkness, I recognised the female, and 
could not resist crying out, “ Madame Roland ! ” 

Mademoiselle Robespierre repeated, in an accent of as- 
tonishment, “ Madame Roland ! ” 

“Yes, I, myself, mademoiselle, and my husband, who, 


256 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


hearing that Robespierre has been threatened by his 
enemies, are come to offer him a shelter in our little house 
at the corner of the Rue Guenegaud/^ 

I thank you in my brother’s name, madame,’’ replied 
Mademoiselle Charlotte, with dignity. He has already 
found the asylum which you so nobly offer him, and which 
I know not myself. Here is the gentleman who brought 
the news,” continued she, pointing me out to Madame 
Roland. 

That proves, mademoiselle,” said, in his turn, the 
Citizen Roland, that other citizens are more favored than 
we ; ” and remarking that he was unwilling to intrude 
longer on her privacy, he bowed, and departed with his 
wife. 

As my errand was fulfilled, I followed them, and returned 
in close conversation with them. Madame Roland was at 
the Jacobin Club when the paid guard made an irruption 
among them. 

The terror was such among the few members of the 
society present, that one of them, anxious to escape, escala- 
ded the gallery set aside for women. Madame Roland 
made him ashamed of himself, and compelled him to 
descend the way that he had come. 

They asked me about Robespierre. I told them that I 
was not authorized to inform them of his place of shelter, 
but only could assure them that he was in a place of safety 
among people who would die for him. 

Madame Roland asked me to tell Robespierre that they 
would bring him to trial — that is to say, accuse him that 
evening at the Feuillants. In that certainty, she and her 
husband were going to M. Buzal, to pray him to defend his 
colleague. 

We separated at the top of the Pont ISTeuf — M. Roland 
and Madame to go down the Rue du Roule. I to follow 
the Rue St. Honore. 

It was quite night when I arrived at Duplay’s. P41i- 
ci4n had rejoined the family during my absence ; they were 
at table, and he regarded askance the new arrival, who took 
the place of honor between Madame Duplay and Made- 
moiselle Cornelie. I told M. Robespierre all about the ful- 
filment of my message, and rep(Jtted to him his sister’s 
reply. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


257 


I told him also that M. and Madame Roland had paid a 
visit to his house. 

Here he interrupted, and repeated after me, — Citizen 
Roland ! Citizeness Roland ! ” 

He appeared so astonished at the visit, that he was some 
time asking me the cause. 

I took my place at the table. 

“ Monsieur,” said Robespierre, after a mementos silence, 
with his habitual politeness, “ does it please you to serve 
me to the end ? ” 

Not only will it be an honor, and a pleasure,” replied 
I, but a duty.” 

Well,” said he, ^^this time you have only a few steps 
to go, and I shall not have to write a letter. Go to the 
Rue St. Anne ; on the left hand side, in going up the 
street, by the Boulevards, you will see the Hotel de Berry ; 
there you will inquire for a young man named St. Just. 
He lives on the fourth floor, in a room overlooking the court. 
If he be at home, tell him that I want him. My kind 
host, I hope, will allow me to receive him here. At present, 
this young man is of no account, but one day he will lead 
us all. If he be not at home, well ; you leave your name 
and the address of this house, where I have found such 
good friends, and such noble protectors, and under the ad- 
dress you write, ^ Urgent for the sake of the public safety.’ 
"Whenever he returns, he will come straight here, you may 
he sure.” 

I wished to leave the table, hut, placing his hand on my 
shoulder, he said, “ Finish your supper. I am not in so 
great a hurry, and we have all the night before us.” 

Five minutes after, I was proceeding up the Rue St. 
Anne. 

The Hotel de Berry led out of the Rue Neuve des Petits- 
champs and the Rue Neuve St. Augustin. 

I asked for Citizen St. Just. 

The concierge threw his eyes ever the keys hung on the 
wall, and saw that of St. Just was not there. 

“ No. 19, fourth story, at the bottom of the corridor.” 

I mounted a dark staircase, and found the indicated cor- 
ridor, and in that corridor, No. 19. 

I knocked ; a powerful voice said, “ Come in ! ” 

I turned the key in the lock, and saw a young man in 

16 


258 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


his shirt-sleeves, working by an open window at the cor- 
rection of proofs. 

He was so absorbed in his work, that I approached and 
touched him before he turned round. 

The book, the proofs of which he was correcting, was, I 
could see, entitled, “ Mespasse temps ou le Voirvel organe.^^ 

The preoccupation of the young poet was caused by the 
desire to find a rhyme. 

The rhyme found, he turned to me. 

Pardon,” said he ; “what want you ?” 

“ Citizen St. Just,” replied I, “ I come on behali of 
Citizen Kobespierre.” 

“You?” 

“ Yes. He desires your presence immediately.” 

“ Where ? ” 

“ If you are not prepared, I will leave you the address ; 
but if you are, I will conduct you thither.” 

“ Is he at the Rue Saintange ? ” 

“No; he is close by here — in the Rue St. Honors.” 

“ At the Jacobins ? ” 

“There are no longer Jacobins. The club is dead.” 

“ Who dared do it?” 

“ The paid guard, who, an hour before, dared do another 
thing.” 

“ What was the other thing ? ” 

“ Fire on the people at the Champ de Mars — slay, per- 
chance, six or seven hundred persons ! ” 

St. Just shouted with rage. 

“ What ! you a patriot — the friend of M. Robespierre, — 
and not know better than that what takes place in Paris ? ” 
said I. 

“ I promised my publisher to have those proofs corrected 
by Thursday ; and in order to accomplish this I told the 
servant not to disturb me for anything. He brought my 
breakfast in my chamber, and here is my dinner already 
served. I have not had time to eat. I knew last night 
from the Jacobins they must withdraw the petition ; and I 
doubted not that, the petition withdrawn, there might be a 
disturbance at the Champ de Mars. But let us not lose a 
moment. Since Robespierre requires me, I am at his 
orders.” 

The young man put on a white waistcoat, irreproachable 


LOVE AND LIBERTY.. 


259 


in its cleanliness ; a gray coat ; a sword and dagger he 
hung at his side ; then took his hat, and said but the 
words, Show the way ! ” 

I went in front, and he followed. 


CHAPTER XLVII. 

A BREAK. 

Here comes a break in my personal adventures during 
the course of the great struggle for liberty throughout 
Prance. I leading the way, and St. Just following, we 
went down the Rue St. Anne, and had almost reached the 
Rue Neuve des Augustins, when the powerful voice of St. 
Just (one that was soon to be heard by the Nation, which 
was to hush at his first word) addressed me. 

“Citizen ! ’’ 

“Citizen St. Just?’^ 

“ Give me the address whither we are going ! he said. 

“ Why, I am leading you ! Do you mistrust me ? 

His face flushed. 

“ I mistrust no man,’’ he replied. 

“ Then why do you ask for the address ? ” 

“ By way of precaution.” 

“ What need is there of precaution ? ” 

“ Was not the Citizen Robespierre in danger not an hour 
since, by being in the streets ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Then the Citizen St. Just is equally in danger of a bul- 
let from the barrel of a paid guard.” 

“ I shall not desert you.” 

But ” 

“ Yes, citizen.” 

“ What if you are killed ? ” St. Just replied calmly. “ I 
should not know whither jou came.” 

“ True,” I replied ; and he taking out his tablets, wrote 
upon them, from my dictation, the address of the Citizen 
Duplay. 

In this act may be seen an example of that forethought 


260 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


and preparation which gave St. J ust a position to which 
otherwise he never would have attained. 

‘‘Good!” he said, having carefully taken down every 
particular. “ Go forward.” 

How necessary was his precaution, the next few minutes 
showed. 

We had only reached the end of the Rue St. Anne, when 
a sudden rush of people along the Rue Neuve des Augus- 
tins warned us that danger was at hand. 

I turned and looked at St. Just. 

Without regarding me, while apparently his sight was on 
the alert on all sides, he repeated his direction, “Go for- 
ward.” 

Suddenly, shots were heard, and, in a few moments, the 
street surged with people, who poured out from the houses 
and joined those who were speeding dowm the street, run- 
ning by their sides and asking what the commotion meant. 
So far, very few of the citizens were aware of the massacres 
that had taken place upon the altar of the country. 

Paris, in fact, was that day, for the first time, wholly 
shadowed by the red flag — which was not to be furled again 
until a reign of terror, never equalled in the history of the 
world, was to he followed by the inauguration of Napoleon’s 
splendor. 

We were proceeding as rapidly as possible past the cur- 
rent of excited people, when, unquestionably, a deadly fire 
opened from a small turning on the left. 

Suddenly, I turned to the left, to see who had struck me ; 
for I felt that a blow had been aimed at my shoulder which 
had nearly sent me olff my feet. 

As I turned, no man faced me, and I was wondering where 
the blow came from ; when, as suddenly and unexpectedly 
as I received the blow, I felt sick and weak. 

It was a woman w ho screamed, “ Blood ! ” 

She pointed to the ground. 

As though looking through a mist, I followed the direction 
of her pointing finger. 

There was blood upon the ground. 

All this had passed in a space not longer than six mo- 
ments. 

“ Citizen” said the voice of St. Just, “you are wounded j 
the ball; however, was meant for me.” 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 261 

The last words sounded faintly in my ears, and I thought 
that he, too, was hurt. 

And you, citizen — are you wounded ? 

No,” he replied, in a still fainter voice, as it appeared 
to me ; but it was my senses forsaking me. 

Citizens,” I heard him say, “ if I fall, you will find an 
address in my pocket, which is the home of this lad.” 

That was all I heard. Suddenly, the earth appeared to 
slip from under me, and there was an end of my conscious- 
ness. 

When next I knew myself, I awoke to life with the feel- 
ing of a heating red-hot hammer upon my left shoulder ; I 
appeared to be struggling out of a state of fearful horror. 
When this cleared oft^ and I knew myself to be once more 
alive, once more Citizen Ren4 Besson, I was in a little room, 
which I soon learnt was an apartment belonging to Citizen 
Duplay; and, at my side, reading a book, was Citizeness 
Cornelie Duplay, who had constituted herself my nurse. 

And inasmuch as this history is not so much one of my- 
self as of the Kevolution, and of my part in it, I will only 
briefly recount the events of the next few weeks — of the 
next few months, in relation to myself. 

It appeared that I had been wounded in the shoulder, 
not dangerously ; but the loss of blood was very great, and 
I was weak as a little child. I could not raise my hand 
even to my head, while I had scarcely voice sufficient with 
which to thank my kind nurse for the offices she performed 
about me. 

For weeks I lay upon that narrow bed, my constitution, 
and the temperate life I had hitherto led, fighting well in, 
my favor. I could tell through chapters how gradually the 
memory of Sophie Gerbaut faded from my mind, and of how 
Cornelie Duplay took her place in my heart. 

But I said nothing of my love ; and when, weak, but 
quite safe, I sat once more at Citizen Duplay’s hospitable 
table, I still kept my passion to myself. 

Released, however, as I was, from my bed, I was still a 
prisoner in the house, which I did not quit for a couple 
more months. 

Meanwhile the Revolution was progressing. 

The sight of the altar of the country, after the flight of 
the people from its steps, was terrible. It is said that the 


262 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


great mass of the dead lying bleeding upon that mighty 
structure was composed of women and children. 

As the National Guard marched back to the city, after 
this massacre of many hundreds — a massacre which would 
have been multiplied by ten, had not Lafayette thrown 
himself before the cannon — they were greeted with low 
cries of ‘‘ Murder ! ” “ Murder ! ” “ Vengeance ! 

That day utterly parted the people from the thought of 
royalty. Paris was now ready to spill blood, for massacre 
would now take the name of vengeance. In many a street 
in the common parts of Paris were to be found the surviv- 
ing relatives of those who had been slain. These were 
naturally prompted by a spirit of revenge — by a determin- 
ation to pay blood with blood. 

Nothing could wash out this hate — no words uttered by 
the weak and vacillating King could now stem the torrent 
of hate. Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette were already 
condemned to death in the hearts of the people. Nothing 
could save them. 

The people were now ripe for rage, and therefore the 
terrible Danton gained power. The total reverse of Kobes- 
pierre, they were to rise to power together. Robespierre 
was feeble, small, thin, and excessively temperate. Habit- 
ually, he ate little, drank water, and used perfumes when 
he was not surrounded by flowers ; for he was as passionate 
an admirer of flowers as Mirabeau himself. Danton, on 
the other hand, was a huge monster — athletic, rude, coarse. 
He pleased the worst rabble of the city, because he resem- 
bled them. His eloquence was as thunder, and his very 
phrases were short, clear, and plain, like the words of a 
general accustomed to command. His very gestures intox- 
icated the people, who, however, more than by anything, 
were attracted by his wit, which, coarse, brutal, and often 
unjust, was never obscure, and always to the point. Men 
who went to hear his wit, remained to be converted to his 
ways of thinking. 

His one quality was ambition — his one passion, excite- 
ment. He was quite devoid of honor, principles, or mor- 
ality — he was already drunk with the Revolution ; but it 
was a drunkenness which produced madness — not sleep. 
Moreover, he had the peculiar power of controlling himself 
even in his most excited moments — times when he would 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


263 


launch a bitter joke in the midst of his denunciations — a 
joke which should compel his hearers to yell with laughter, 
while he himself remained perfectly impassive. He 
laughed contemptuously at all honesty. He despised a 
man who could pity. In a word, he was a wild beast gifted 
with speech, but who could no more think beyond himself 
and his wants or desires, than can the beasts that perish. 

The first great act of the people after the massacre upon 
the altar of the country, was the expression of a desire to 
honor the remains of Voltaire — the man whose writings, 
together with those of Rousseau, had actually sown the 
seed of revolution against that royalty which in Gaul and 
France had unceasingly mastered the people through two 
weary thousand years, before the death of Voltaire, in 1778 
— thirteen years before the events I am now recording. 
The power of the Court and the Church still maintained 
such sway over the minds and hearts of the people, that it 
was impossible to hope to bury the great man without 
creating a popular outrage. His nephew, therefore, secretly 
removed the body from Paris, where Voltaire died, and 
bore it far away to the Abbey of Sellieres, in Champagne, 
where it found a resting-place. 

Now it was the National Assembly ordered the removal 
of Voltaire’s remains to the Pantheon, the cathedral of 
philosophy, where lie buried many great men — that build- 
ing upon the face of which has been carved “ France, in 
gratitude to great men.” 

“ The people owe their freedom to Voltaire ! ” cried 
Regnault de St. Jean d’Angely; “for by enlightening 
them he gave them power. Nations are enthralled by 
ignorance alone ; and when the torch of reason displays to 
them the ignominy of bearing these chains, they blush to 
W'ear them, and they snap them asunder ! ” 

Like a conqueror, seated on his trophies, they placed 
Voltaire’s coffin in the midst of the spot upon which the 
horrible Bastille had stood, and upon a great heap of stones 
which had formed part of that stronghold ; and thus Vol- 
taire, dead, triumphed over those stones which had gained 
a victory over him in life, for Voltaire had been a prisoner 
in the Bastille. 

On one of the blocks which formed this second altar of 
the country they carved this inscription ; 


264 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


“ Receive on this spot, where despotism once fet- 
tered THEE, THE HONORS DECREED TO THEE BY THY 
COUNTRY.” 

All Paris poured out to walk in the triumphal procession 
which accompanied the quiet ashes to their last resting-place. 
The car upon which the coffin lay was harnessed by twelve 
horses, four abreast, their manes plaited with golden tassels 
and beautiful flowers, the reins being held b}’’ men dressed 
in ancient Greek costume. On the car was a sort of altar 
upon which lay a waxen statue of the philosopher crowned 
with laurel. This was placed over the remains. 

The money spent upon this pageant was immense ; 
whence it came, no one has ever learnt. It was almost 
miraculous. Meanwhile, the people were living upon a 
couple of ounces of bread apiece, and a few miserable vege- 
tables. That passion and vengeance could have been kept 
alive upon such reducing diet, is the truest evidence of the 
justice of the national cause. 

The military formed a portion of the procession, while 
cannon boomed incessantly during the march. Finally — 
and it is the most significant fact of this remarkable pageant 
— a printing-press was made to take part in the procession. 
At this press, agile printers were taking off impressions of 
sentences in honor of Voltaire, the printed papers being 
cast to the seething multitude fresh printed as the}' w’ere. 

Here and there the red cap — the cap of liberty — might 
be seen, surmounting the ominous pike. 

Every actor and actress in Paris followed, dressed in the 
costumes of the characters of Voltaire’s plays. Members of 
all the learned bodies followed ; a gigantic pyramid was car- 
ried along, bearing the titles of all his works ; and, finally, 
the statue of the demigod himself — a statue of gold — was 
borne upon the shoulders of men dressed in Grecian cos- 
tume, this being followed by a casket of gold, containing a 
copy of each of his works. 

Troops of singing-girls dressed in white met the quiet 
cause of all this demonstration, and showered white flow'ers 
upon the catafalque ; hymns to his genius were sung, the 
air was sick with perfume, and the city trembled with the 
roar of adoration. 

Night fell before the procession reached the temple dedi- 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


265 


cat eel to the remains of great men, and here Voltaire was 
enthroned, for he was King of France in that hour; and 
the weak, vacillating, and kindly Louis XVI, away there 
in the Tuileries, was crownless, awaiting to pay in his per- 
son — he the least odious of his race — for the unceasing 
crimes and cruelties of his forefathers. 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 

THE THREAT IS LOUDER. 

Throughout August, affairs were tending more and 
more to dangerous threats. The National Assembly were 
ostensibly framing a new constitution; but the delegates 
proceeded very slowly, except in the matter of contradiction, 
at which they were very brisk. 

The King’s brothers became still further estranged from 
him ; while the efforts made bejmnd the frontier, tending to 
liberate the roj^al family from the state of imprisonment in 
which they lived, only tended to hasten the growing belief 
of the people that by the death of the King, alone could 
the nation hope to destroy the chances and the plans of 
those Royalists who had escaped from France, and were 
blindly endeavoring to serve their own interests by inducing 
foreign Courts to declare war against France, and march 
upon Paris. 

Throughout this period the King gave little expression of 
opinion, worked and read incessantlj^, and bore the threat- 
ening aspect of affairs about him and his family with great 
patience. He was an estimable man, honest to a degree, 
but stupid, hopelessly prejudiced, and apparently without 
any capability of experiencing tenderness or sorrow. 

It was now that Roland, the husband of the celebrated 
Madame Roland, rose to eminence. Nothing in himself, he 
became notorious through his wife — one of the most beau- 
tiful, accomplished, and brilliant, as one of the most unfor- 
tunate, the world has yet seen. Her husband was much 
older than herself — cold, deadly, impassive ; but, on the other 
hand, bis steady principles were never for one moment 
shaken. 


266 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


She was a republican, heart and soul ; and when the peo- 
ple, towards the close of the year 1791, began to believe 
that the differences between the King and the nation would 
be amicably settled, she never swerved one moment in main- 
taining that a republic, and only a republic, could save 
France from invasion. 

General Dumouriez was also rising to power. He was 
rather a courtier than a soldier, although he was destined 
to will victories : especially amongst women, he was very 
successful. He attempted to obtain favor from Madame 
Boland herself ; but that single-hearted lady, true to her 
ice-cold husband, put down the General’s pretensions with 
calm contempt. He, however, gained much attention from 
Marie Antoinette, as the man who, amongst those who had 
acquired the confidence of the people, was the most aristo- 
cratic, and who had, therefore, the most sympathy with the 
falling royal cause. The Queen was right. After gaining 
several battles for France against the Austrians, he turned 
his army upon Paris, intending to intimidate the Bepubli- 
cans. The army revolted, and Dumouriez himself had to 
take refuge in the camp of those very Austrians whom but 
a short time previously he had conquered. They would 
have nothing to do with him ; and, finally, he fled to Eng- 
land, always open to the refugee, and there he died in ob- 
scurity. 

This general, therefore, helped to destroy the royal fam- 
ily. At his first interview with the King, he said, Sire, 
I devote myself wholly to your service. But a minister of 
to-day is no longer the minister of yesterday. Without 
ceasing to be your Majesty’s devoted servant, I am the 
slave of the nation.” 

The Queen sent for him privately when he had become 
the idol of the people. 

“ Sir,” said she, you are all-powerful at this moment ; 
but it is through popular favor, and that soon destroys its 
idols. I tell 3 ’^ou I oppose the changes which are being 
made in the constitution, so beware ! ” 

am confounded,” the General replied; ^^but I am 
more the servant of my country than of your Majesty. 
Think of your safety, of the King’s, of that of your child- 
ren ! You are surrounded by enemies. If, in the King’s 
interests, you oppose the new constitution made by the As- 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


267 


semblj you will endanger tlie royal familj^, and in no way 
prevent the course of events.” 

“ Sir,” the Queen frantically replied, “ this state of 
things cannot last for ever. Beware for yourselfP 

‘‘Madame,” said Dumouriez, who had accepted the post 
of Premier of the Ministry, and who, at this time, appears 
to have very faithfully served the nation — his great fault 
was his fickleness, — “madame, when I became Prime Min- 
ister, I knew that my responsibility was not my greatest 
danger.” 

The Queen shrank back. “ Do you think me capable of 
having you assassinated? ” 

Tears were upon the Queen’s face. 

“ Far be such a fearful thought from me, your Majesty. 
Your soul is great and noble, and the bravery you have 
shown on many occasions has for ever made me your Majes- 
ty’s most devoted slave.” 

The Queen’s anger was appeased in a moment, and she 
placed her right hand upon the General’s arm in token of 
reconciliation. 

Thus it was that this unhappy woman, who had begun 
life so extravagantly, while the masses were starving, irri- 
tated the people, and especially all those who had dealings 
with her, by the apparent childishness and weakness of her 
general character. It was felt that no reliance could be 
placed upon her. Born of the great feudal Austrian family 
about whom etiquette was so plastered, that only nobles 
could sit down in the presence of the royal family, and 
then upon a very low stool, she was brought to France at a 
ver^^ early age, to a Court almost as ridiculous as the one 
she had left. But while the Austrians had been excited to 
no feelings of hate against their Emperor, Voltaire, Kous- 
seau, Diderot, had taught the French to look upon royalty 
as made up of merciless, greedy puppets ; and, unfortu- 
nately, Marie Antoinette — a pure and noble-hearted woman 
in herself — had the appearance of totally agreeing with 
this description. 

While the people were starving, her passion for jewels 
became absorbing ; while mothers were begging meals for 
their little ones, she was taking parts in little comedies at 
Versailles. 

Her memory can scarcely be blamed. She had never 


268 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


Been the people; and, as a proof that she knew nothing 
about them and their wants, we hear about her the cele- 
brated anecdote, which helped to send her to the scaffold. 
Being told the people wanted bread, she replied, “ If there 
is no bread, why do they not eat cake ? 

The people never forgave that — she washed those words 
only partly out with her blood. Did she really mean what 
she said, or were the words intended for a joke ? Did she 
really think that if there was no bread there must be 
cake ; or did she utter that fatal sentence as a witticism ? 
I venture to think that she was ignorant of the very mean- 
ing of starvation ; for courtiers treat kings and queens like 
children. A misfortune this, when the people expect them 
to be men and women — the condition of things when the 
Revolution broke out. 

Louis XVI was incapable of managing anything but a 
lock ; his wife thought she could govern for him, and she 
made a sorry mistake. 

The King’s grandfather, Louis XV, the preceding King, 
had said, “ After me, the deluge.’’ The deluge was upon 
the royal family, sweeping around them, and was to over- 
whelm the family.” 

The popular feeling was far stronger against the Queen 
than the King. 

“ See,” she said, one day, before Dumouriez and the 
King, and pointing through a window near her ; a prison- 
er in this palace, I dare not venture to present myself at a 
window that overlooks the garden. But yesterday I wished 
to breathe the air, and went to the window. An artillery- 
man used the language of a guard-room, and hurled his 
words at me ; held up his sword, and said he should like to 
see my head on it. I have seen them murdering a priest, 
and meanwhile, not ten yards away, children and their 
nurses are pla3dng at ball. What a country, and what 
people ! ” 

That the Queen incessantly conspired to induce a foreign 
army to march into France, is very certain. 

The King soon mistrusted Dumouriez, who at once offer- 
ered to resign his position of Minister. The King at once 
accepted, and another friend was lost by royalty. 

On taking his leave, Dumouriez foretold what was to 
happen. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


269 


Sire/’ said he, “ you think you are about to save reli- 
gion. You are destroying it. The priesthood will he 
killed ; your crown will be taken from you j perhaps even 
the Queen and the royal children ” 

Dumouriez could not finish the sentence. 

‘‘I await — I expect death!” said the King, much 
moved ; “ and I pardon my enemies.” 

He turned away, with quivering lips. 

Bumouriez never saw Louis XVI again. 

He fled from Paris, and especially from La Belle Liegoise, 
who, in her blood-colored dress, was now rising to utter 
power. 

“Build the new parliament,” she cried, “on the site of 
the Bastille ; and let every woman give her jewels, that 
the gold may be coined to pay for the work.” 

And taking the golden earrings from her ears, the rings 
from her fingers, she cast them before her hearers. 

Her power was so great, that during every sudden out- 
break her “ nod ” condemned any man brought before her, 
to death ; her “ Let him go,” set him at liberty. 

She was mad for years before she was placed in the asy- 
lum where she ended her days, twenty years after the death 
of the King and Queen. Not a Frenchwoman, but born 
at Liege, she had been brought up respectably ; she was 
even accomplished ; but at seventeen she had fallen a 
victim to the snares of a young French nobleman. 

Thus fallen, she threw herself into all shapes of de- 
bauchery ; and when the Bevolution broke out, she came 
to France, to hunt down and destroy the man who had 
destroyed her. 

This she did in the raging time to come, of which I have 
to tell, and she showed him no mercy. 

Neither found she any mercy for herself. The furies of 
the Bevolution — the tricoteuses — seized her, stripped her to 
the skin, and whipped her in public, as an obscene prosti- 
tute. This act brought into active force the latent mad- 
ness from which she had been suffering for some time. She 
was removed to a madhouse, and there she dragged through 
twenty years of life. In fierce memory of the indignity 
which had been put upon her, she would never put on any 
clothing ; and so she lived, clutching the bars of her den, 
screaming, alternately, “ Blood I ” and “ Liberty ! ” 


270 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


It took tweoty years to enfeeble her constitution, and to 
wear her life away into the peacefulness of death. 

She was the greatest enemy the Queen had. She de- 
clared Marie Antoinette as frail as herself ; for this demon 
in woman’s shape insanely gloried in her condition. And 
when she gloried in this statement against the “ Austrian 
— the most opprobrious name the people could find to cast 
at the Queen — her hearers applauded loudly. 

So the months drifted on, the events of every day dark- 
ening the fortunes of the royal family. 

And now came the time when the palace was besieged. 
The King, looking from his window, saw the meeting of a 
huge crowd without any alarm : he was, by this time, 
accustomed to sudden crowds. 

Again a soldier had led the way for the mob. An artil- 
lery officer, instead of obeying orders, and retiring his guns 
to defend the palace, pointed to its windows, and cried. 

The enemy is there ! ” 

Two minutes after, the people had got possession of the 
Tuileries. 

The king — who, whatever his faults, was no coward- 
rushed forward towards the massive folding-doors, which 
the populace finding bolted, were breaking open. 

As he approached, the panels fell at his feet. He order- 
ed a couple of valets to open these folding-doors. 

What have I to fear,” he said, “ from my people ?” 

A ragged man rushed forward, and thrust a stick, point- 
ed with iron, at the King. A grenadier of the guard 
struck it down with his bayonet. And now the man fell, 
whether in a fit or not will always remain a question. Cer- 
tainly, as he rushed forward, he was foaming at the mouth. 
All that is known farther of him is this — that the mass 
pressing forward, he was trampled to death. 

For a moment, the power of majesty was once more 
asserted. 

He had left the Queen, the royal children, and his noble 
sister, Madame Elizabeth, in an inner room, and had 
ordered the door to be closed after him. This had been 
done. 

The king now moved to another room, larger, pretending 
that there he could speak to a greater number of citizens. 
Suddenly, hearing a scuffle, the King turned, to find the 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 271 

mob surrounding Madame Elizabeth, who was endeavoring 
to reach the King’s side. 

It is the Queen ! ” screamed several fierce voices. And 
they were the voices of women. 

In a moment, they turned upon her. 

The abhorred Queen was before them, as they thought. 
In another moment she would have been killed. 

“ It is Madame Elizabeth ! ” cried the soldiers. 

The mob fell back with reverence. Even at that point 
they could respect Elizabeth, the purity and simplicity of 
whose life formed the one favorable point in the united 
lives of the royal family, and one to which the whole mass 
of the people gave implicit credence. 

But she was to die with her family. 

Ah ! what have you done ? ” she cried. Had they 
been allowed to take me for the Queen, and have killed me, 
I had perhaps saved the Queen’s life !” 

By this time, about twenty of the King’s friends stood 
about him, their swords drawn. 

Put up your swords,” said the King ; “ this multi- 
tude ’s more excited than guilty.” 

“ Where is the Austrian ? ” now resounded upon all 
sides. 

The question which excited the multitude was against 
the priesthood, whose members, known to favor royalty, 
were abhorred by the people. The king had refused to sign 
an act by virtue of which the priesthood would have been 
annihilated. 

A butcher, named Legendre, cried to the King, “ The 
people are weary of being your plaything and your vic- 
tim ! ” 

Meanwhile, those who could not gain an entrance to the 
besieged palace called loudly to those within, Are they 
dead ? Show us, then, their heads ! ” 

Let him put it on ! ” cried the butcher, thrusting a 
coarse red cap of liberty towards the King on the end of 
a pike. 

The King smiled, and put the symbol of liberty upon 
his head. 

Long live the King ! ” now cried some voices. 

The people now called upon the King to restore Boland 
- — Madame Boland’s husband — to power, from which he 
had been dismissed. 


272 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


The King was inflexible. 

“This is not the moment for deliberation,” said the 
King. 

“ Do not he afraid ! ” whispered a grenadier to Louis. 

“ My friend,” said the King, “ does my heart beat rap- 
idly? ” 

And he placed the man’s left hand upon his breast. 

The pulsation of the King’s heart was perfectly equable. 

“ If you love the people, drink their health ! ” cried a 
man in rags, pushing forward a common bottle. 

The King smiled and took the bottle, saying, “ To the 
nation ! ” 

And now the cries of “ Long live the King ! ” were so 
strong that they floated out upon the crowd waiting to see 
the King’s body cast amongst them ; and, instead, they 
learnt that once more the King had — if only for a time — 
reconciled himself to his people. 

Meanwhile the Queen was undergoing her agony. 

Onl}" the conviction that she was more immeasurable 
hated than the King, prevented her from joining him before 
the people. She feared her presence might exasperate the 
people beyond all control. 

She remained in her bedroom, pressing her two children 
to her heart. 

Suddenly, a beating at the door, and the screams of many 
fierce women, upon hearing the words, “ The Austrian is 
there ! ” 

But they had to call masculine help before they forced 
the door. 

They found the Queen unprotected, except by her chil- 
dren, whose presence probably saved their mother from 
assassination. 

Only a few ladies were with her, one of whom was that 
unhappy Princess de Lamballe, who would not remain in 
England, who returned to France, and who was one of the 
first to fall a victim to the Beign of Terror. 

The Queen was found by the screaming crowd of women 
standing as I have described, in a bay window, while be- 
tween her and the mob, a long, heavy table had been placed 
across the window. 

By the Queen stood her daughter — near fourteen years 
of age. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 273 

The Dauphin — then seven years of age, and extremely 
handsome — was placed upon the table before her. 

The men in the crowd were for the greater part silent ; 
the women were implacable : one of these thrust forward a 
republican red cap, and told the Austrian to put it on Lou- 
is’s head. This she did. 

The child took it for a plaything, and smiled. 

And now a pretty, rosy, youthful girl came forward, and 
using the coarsest possible language, upbraided the Queen 
savagely. 

Praj' what harm have I done you ? 

Me ? — perhaps not. But what harm have you not done 
the nation ? ” 

Poor child ! ” the Queen replied. You but repeat 
what you have been told. Why should I make the people 
miserable ? Though not born a Frenchwoman, my children 
are French, and I shall never see my native land again. 
I was happy when you loved me ! ” 

The girl’s head fell. 

I did not know you,” she said ; and I see now that 
you are good ! ” 

And now Santerre — good name for a leader of the peo- 
ple — approached. 

Take the cap off the child!” he cried j “donT you see 
that he is stifling ? ” 

The crowd was tremendous. 

And approaching the Queen he whispered, ^^You have 
some awkward friends here. I know of some who would 
serve you better.” 

This was the first intimation the Queep really had that 
there was a party amongst the people actually willing to 
raise the royal family they had so utterly degraded. 

Five hours that torture lasted before the palace was clear- 
ed. The King and Queen had also been forced to put the 
national cockades upon their heads. When once more the 
royal house was free, the unhappy people could scarcely find 
strength with which to embrace. 

Several of the members of the National Assembly wept. 

To one, Mei;;lin, the Queen said, “ You weep, sir.” 

Yes, madame,” he replied, gravely ; I weep over the 
misfortunes of the woman, the wife, and the mother ; but, 
beyond this, my heart is stone. I hate kings and queens.” 

17 


274 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


These words were the key-stone to French feeling. Lou- 
is XVI and his wife were driven to the block, not as a man 
and a wife, as father and mother — but as King and Queen. 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

THE KING QUITS THE TUILERIES. 

The National Assembly had ordered the provinces to 
send 20,000 troops to Paris. With them they brought the 
revolutionary hymn, the “Marseillaise.” It was written 
and composed by a young artillery-officer, named De Lisle. 
It was completed at the piano, after a night’s bout. He 
fell asleep over the instrument, and at length awakening, 
gradually recalled the air and words of a song, the fierceness 
of w’hich sent more French men and women to the block 
than did any other motive. 

That song drove revolutionary France mad, and took 
from the royal family all hope of mercy. 

The royal family, however, were still at the Palace of the 
Tuileries ; and while they remained there, the semblance 
of royalty was kept up — albeit, in fact, they were utterly 
prisoners. 

The Queen, early in August, still utterly relied upon 
Lafayette, who did not disguise his desire to retain the 
monarchy, under a protectorate — he himself to be the 
Protector. 

“ Mistrust Lafayette,” had said Mirabeau ; but the 
Queen’s faith was strong, and her confidence hastened 
events. 

However, one Gaudet, only twenty years of age, was 
rising to power amongst the Girondists ; and he having in- 
timated that he felt great interest in the royal family, 
matters were so managed that he had an interview wdth 
Marie Antoinette, who, poor lad}’^, took him by the hand, 
and led him to the little cot in which her child was sleep- 
ing. 

“ Educate him to liberty, madame,” said the orator. “ It 
18 the one condition of his life.” 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


275 


He kissed the child. Nine months afterwards he was 
one of those who sent the King and Queen to the scaffold. 

The royal family were no^v prohibited from shutting a 
door, and so much did they dread poison, that they only 
pretended to eat of the dishes prepared and set before tliem, 
and really subsisted upon cakes, and other food brought to 
them in the pockets of their attendants, who purchased the 
eatables at obscure shops. 

The Queen made the King wear as a breastplate fifteen- 
fold silk ; but while the poor man complied, he said, ‘‘ They 
will not assassinate me, but put me to death like a King, in 
open daylight.” 

He never appears to have thought of the possible execu- 
tion of the Queen herself. 

He is no coward,” she said of the King; *‘but he is 
calm in the presence of danger. His courage is in his 
heart, only it does not show itself — he is so timid.” 

The family now only showed themselves when going to 
church on Sunday, and then they were assailed with cries 
of “ No King ! ” Louis said it was as though God himself 
had turned against him. 

One night, a chamber-valet, who slept at the Queen’s 
door, was awakened, to find an assassin, dagger in hand, 
stealing into the Queen’s room. 

Murders now became quite common. One D’Epremesnil, 
who had been a great favorite with the people, showed 
signs of moderation. Suddenly turned upon by the mob, 
he was cut down, dragged through the gutters, and was 
about to be thrown into a common sewer, wLen he w^as 
rescued by a squad of the National Guard. As he lay 
dying. Potion, the Mayor of Paris, looked upon him, and 
fainted. E-ecovering his senses, the victim said to the 
Mayor, “ And 1 — I, too, was once the idol of the people ! 
Ma}^ you meet with a better fate ! ” 

The sound of the soul-stirring ^‘Marseillaise” had mad- 
dened Paris. The hourly news of the march of the Prus- 
sians upon France fatally intensified that hatred of all w’ho 
were favorable to royalty — a hatred which w^as now about 
-utterl}'’ to burst all bounds. 

An almost complete insurrection was adjourned to 
August 10. 

It was said by the people that Marie Antoinette daily 


276 


LOVE AND LIBERTY, 


cursed the people ; that she had offered a pistol to the King, 
and pra^^ed him to destroy himself : that she had vowed, 
sooner than leave th-e royal palace, she would be nailed to 
its walls. 

In truth, she was battling with her natural royalty — 
defending the unemotional King, and endeavoring to take 
his place without intruding on his prerogrative. 

Meanwhile, the principal movers in the drama were 
being thinned by murder. Mandat, the commandant 
general, suspected of treachery rather than of duty, was 
shot down before his son’s eyes, and his body w’as cast into 
the Seine. 

On the morning of that terrible 10th of August, Madame 
Elizabeth, the King’s sister, who had been watching 
through the night, listening to the ringing of that bell 
which all the Royalists knew was the tocsin of murder, — 
this pure-hearted Elizabeth called to the Queen. 

‘‘ Sister,” she said, “ come and see the sun rise.” 

And Marie Antoinette looked for the last time upon a 
sunrise (it was typicall}’^ blood-red) which she was to see 
through the palace windows. 

To Roederer, the deputy", was due the first suggestion of 
that act which was really the King’s abdication — that of 
abandoning the royal palace, and asking hospitality of the 
Parliament. 

“ Place 3 "ourselves, madame,” he said, “ in the care of 
the National Assembly. Your persons will then be as 
sacred as the constitution.” 

The constitution itself was to be a thing of the past in 
a few weeks. 

At five in the morning, the Queen had her children 
dressed and brought to her. The King himself, by his ap- 
pearance, should have steeped the guard in confidence. He 
should have appeared in uniform. On the contrary, he 
appeared in a suit of violet silk — court mourning, in fact, 
without boots or spurs, in white silk stockings and pumps ; 
while his hair presented an absurd spectacle, for it had not 
been dressed since the previous day ; and while one side 
was still rounded and curled, the other was flat and ragged. 
He looked about smilingly, but with that vagueness in 
which no reliance can be placed. He was simply a good, 
stup'd, amiable man. He kept apart, all his reign, making 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 277 

locks ; he forgot his people, and he was weak enough to 
suppose his people would forget him. 

As for the Queen she was never more royal. 

Take these ! ’’ she said, seizing a couple of pistols and 
forcing them into his hands ; “ and conquer or die with 
your friends.’^ 

The King however, handed them to a gentleman by his 
side, saying, “No; if I wore arms, the people might be 
angry.” 

A royal progress was made in the court-yard of the 
Tuileries, even in the palace-garden beyond. At first re- 
ceived with faint applause, the cries of hate soon over- 
whelmed the King, and it was with difficulty he gained the 
palace alone. 

The tocsin had now been calling to arms through many 
hours. 

Meanwhile, Danton, the man of blood, was maddening 
the people. 

“ To arms ! ” he cried. “ Do you not hear the call ? ” 

The infuriated people were now upon the palace. 

Thej'^ attempted once more to burst the doors, while the 
artillerymen refused to fire upon the insurgents. 

. And now the fatal, but inevitable, mistake was made. 

“ Sire,” cried Roederer to the King, “ time presses. It 
is no longer entreaty we use, and only one means is left us. 
We ask your permission to use violence towards you ; and, 
by force, to place you under the safety of the National 
Assembly.” 

The King still did not wish to leave the palace. He 
turned to the Queen. 

“ Let us go.” 

Never again did the royal couple step beneath the roof 
of that palace. They left it for a barred prison — that 
barred prison for the scaffold. 

. The King and the royal family were taken to the Assem- 
bly, and put in the reporters’ box, amidst the reporters 
themselves. 

There .were few members present when the King entered 
the house, but it soon filled up. The heat was intense, and 
the King perspired frightfully. This box was supposed to 
be not in the Assembly, because a grating was placed 
before it. As the day went on, it was feared the people 


278 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


might break in from behind, and catch the King in this 
dungeon. It was, therefore, ordered that the grating should 
he removed ; and the workers being unskilful, the King’s 
knowledge in metal-work prevailing, he came forward, and 
helped at its removal ; so that in the event of an attack by 
the people, whose menaces could be heard, the members of 
parliament might shelter the royal family by forming a 
living rampart around them. 

This agony lasted fourteen hours ; but it did not tell 
upon the King’s heavy nature. At his usual hour, he was 
hungry, asked for food, and he ate a hearty meal as calmly 
as though he had passed some hours at lock-making. The 
Queen, who suffered dreadfully at the sight of this evidence 
of callousness on the part of the King, ate nothing, but 
drank a glass or two of iced water with much eagerness. 

The people, learning that the King had left the palace, 
turned upon this building to destroy it — not to sack it. 
The Revolutionists were greedy for blood — not wealth. 

Death to thieves!” was their implacable motto. The 
Tuileries were chiefly defended by seven hundred Swiss, 
two hundred badly-armed gentlemen, and one hundred 
National Guard. At the end of the day, not one-tenth of 
them remained alive. 

The palace was forced. There stood a Swiss on guard, 
many files of comrades behind him. He had orders not to 
fire. The people hooked his belt with a pike, dragged him 
forward, and disarmed him. Another took his place ; he, 
also, was disarmed. Five times was this episode repeated. 

A shot was fired — some say, by a Swiss ; others, by an 
insurgent ; and this appears to have beeen the signal. 

The people turned upon the five disarmed Swiss, and 
beat them to death. One man of huge stature and strength 
killed four. The Swiss were now ordered to fire. Many 
aimed at the huge man, and he fell with many more. In 
a moment, the hall was strewn with the dead and the 
dying. From that moment, the Swiss were doomed ; 
though, for a short time, they were victorious j for the 
people were driven back. 

Meanwhile, the rattle of the musketry echoed through 
the building in which the National Assembly were delibera- 
ting; and its cause soon became known. 

“ Long live the nation ! ” cried the parliamenterians, 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


279 


glaring at the King, who, unhappy man, now helped on 
the massacre of his Swiss guards by sending a written 
order to their commander to cease firing, whatever happened. 
This was really their death-warrant ; for fidelity keeping 
them near the King’s person, fidelity would compel them 
to obey his last command— -for this order was the last Louis 
XVI ever gave. 

Suddenly, shots sounded close at hand. The members 
thought it was the Swiss guard, about to fire upon and 
massacre the National Assembly. In truth, it was the 
National Guard firing upon that division of the Swiss 
which had accompanied the King to the National Assem- 
bly. 

Now,” cried the President, is the time to prove our- 
selves worthy of the people, and of the position they have 
given us, by dying at our posts.” 

It was a false alarm ; it was royalty dying. 

The people now rallied, broke into the palace, and, mad- 
dened hy the sight of the dead citizens in the great hall, 
charged the Swiss, who were serried on the grand staircase. 

Upon those stairs they were driven, leaving comrades 
upon every step. The incline afforded good shooting to 
the people, who, when they had forced their way to the 
top of the stairs, had slain every soldier who had faced 
them. The Swiss guard died bravely to the very last man. 

After that it was massacre, not fighting. Wherever a 
Swiss was found on guard throughout the palace, he was 
hacked to pieces. Many were thrown alive from the win- 
dows to the people below. Some few of these solitary 
Swiss sentinels showed fight ; many threw down their arms, 
and either faced death unarmed, or uselessly asked for 
mercy. 

Seventeen were found kneeling in the palace chapel. In 
vain did they show their fire-arms, which, clear and bright, 
proved they had not fired upon the people. They were 
foreigners ; the news came hourly that all Europe was 
about to pour upon France, and they were killed before the 
very altar. 

It is said the people had, to stimulate their bloodthirsti- 
ness, dissolved gunpowder in the wine and brandy they 
drank. 

Not a Swiss escaped. 


280 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


The Queen^s women remained trembling in the palace. 

One man alone defended their door, and fell — generous 
sentinel ! 

Danton was the very king of the massacre ; and publicly 
he thanked the people for their day’s work. 

Meanwhile, calm, patient, implacable, Eobespierre — he 
who was to conquer Danton — waited quietly abiding his 
time, but always feeling his way. 

The Assembly soon learnt the true state of affairs ; and, 
by their orders, a few Swiss were saved, by being hidden 
in the passages and cellars of the House of Assembly. 

And now, the Revolutionists, eager for blood, but not for 
riches, brought before the National Assembly the spoils of 
the Tuileries. Sacks upon sacks of gold, plate, precious 
stones, costly ornaments, and even heaps of letters — even 
the money found upon the dead Swiss was set out in a sep- 
arate pile. 

The Girondists now felt that the time was come to aban- 
don the throne. Yergniaud drew up an act for t\\e provis- 
ional suspension of royalty. This was at once passed. 

The King’s fall was signed. A few hours before, he 
abandoned his palace. Now, by this Act, the King’s au- 
thority was revoked ; payment of money to royalty was 
stopped j and the National Assembly declared to hold pos- 
session of the persons of the royal family until happier 
times arrived. 

This was virtually dethroning the King, and taking him 
prisoner. 

And how did the King accept this news ? 

He smiled, and said jocosely, “ This is not too constitu- 
tional ! ” 

He was the only human being that smiled in that place 
upon that fatal day — he whose heart should have felt the 
heaviest weight of grief. 

But the people around the building shouted for the King’s 
life. 

The people, however, must not be looked upon harshly. 
They had not stolen ; and though many hundreds had been 
slain by them, they had lost three thousand six hundred 
men. The Swiss did not die unavenged. 

Then the people went back to their work, tired of blood- 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


281 


And the royal family were taken to the prison of the 
Temple, which three of them quitted only for the scaffold. 


CHAPTER L. 

THE MASSACRES OF SEPTEMBER. 

The wretched Queen’s head and eyelids drooped for a 
moment as she heard the words which dethroned her hus- 
band; then, once again, her head was high and defiant. 
Together with the misfortune of the Austrian Hapsburg, 
she inherited their pride and courage. From that hour to 
the moment of her death, her courage never failed her. She 
appears to have equally forgiven and despised. 

Events now followed with terrible rapidity. The Prus- 
sians entered France and the town of Verdun fell into their 
power. That humiliation brought about the massacres of 
September. The town council purposed their capitulation. 
Then Colonel Beaupaire, the commandant, opposed it ; and 
refusing to sign the capitulation, he blew out his brains at 
the council. His body was removed, the capitulation sign- 
ed, the Prussians marched in, and the daughters of the 
principal inhabitants, strewed flowers before the foreign 
troops. 

All of those girls — to be excused, by reason of their 
youth — were, during the Reign of Terror, sent to the guil- 
lotine. 

Beaupaire’s body was carried away by his men, who 
marched out of Verdun with all the honors of war, and to 
it was accorded a state funeral, while the heart was placed 
in the Pantheon. 

Every day, Danton was rising into power. 

Ever}’^ day, Robespierre was following him, and marking 
him down with the vigor of a sleuth hound. 

It was he who organised the September massacres. On 
the 28th of August, a grave-digger, who knew the plan of 
certain catacombs, was awakened at six in the morning by 
a Government agent, and told to prepare this place, within 
ten days, for receiving a large number of bodies. He was 
ordered to be silent, on pain of death. 


282 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


On this same day, organised bands of fierce-looking men, 
springing no one knew whence, patrolled the streets. The 
gates of Paris were closed, so that no one could escape, 
though thousands had fled between the day of the King’s 
first fall and this one, the 28th of August. 

Every house was visited. Five thousand persons, suspect- 
ed of leaning towards royalty, were seized during the follow- 
ing night. Every court-house, convent, prison, was over- 
flowing with prisoners. 

Robespierre still remained quiet and watchful — still lived 
in hiding in the house of good Duplay, the joiner. 

On that night, Robespierre went to the apartments of St. 
J ust, in the Rue St. Anne, and found him calmly going to 
bed. 

“Why not?” asked St. Just. “Murder will be done to- 
night, but I cannot prevent it. And again, those who will 
die are our enemies. Good night.” 

He fell asleep. Awaking, hours after, he marked Robes- 
pierre, pale, haggard. 

“ Have you returned ? ” 

“ Returned ! ” 

“ What ! have you not slept? ” 

“ Slept ! ” cried Robespierre ; “ when the blood of thous- 
ands is being shed by hundreds of assassins — when pure or 
impure blood runs down the streets like water I Oh, no/’ 
he continued, with a sardonic smile ; “I have not slept — I 
have watched, like remorse or crime ; I have had the weak- 
ness not to close my eyes. But Danton — he has slept / ” 

On Sunday (of all days in the week), it being the 2nd of 
September, at three in the afternoon, the signal for the 
massacre was given, by one of those strange accidents with 
which we are all acquainted. Five coaches, filled with, pris- 
oners, were passing. These prisoners happened, by chance, 
to be all priests. 

“ See the friends of the Prussians ! ” cried one in the 
crowd. It was enough. The rage of knowing that the 
Prussians had conquered Verdun made them mad in a mo- 
ment. 

From that hour until four days were passed, murder was 
unceasing all over Paris. It was enough to look like a 
Roj-^alist, and death followed. 

Half the priests were killed in the carriages, before 
they reached the prison gates. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


283 


Inside those gates, as inside the gates of all the other 
ordinary or improvised prisons, sat the revolutionary tri- 
bunes, twelve fierce men, who decided rapidly the fate of the 
prisoner, while they drank and smoked. 

They were chiefly in shirt-sleeves. However, here and 
there might be seen white-handed men, who evidently were 
the master spirits of those terrible juries, which, in their 
way, were merciful, for they did not condemn a prisoner to 
death. If acquitted, the decree was “ Set this gentleman 
at liberty ; ” if guilty, “ To the Force,” — a decree which 
was a pun, for there was a prison called La Force, while the 
word “ force ” may be said to be ‘‘ death ; ” therefore, “k la 
force ” convej’^ed to the prisoner the idea that he was to be 
conveyed to the prison of La Force. In this belief, when 
approaching the prison gate, he had no idea death was at 
hand. The gate opened, and he was delivered to the force 
of an organised band, who quickly despatched him. Each 
band of executioners was controlled by a hidden chief. 
They moved from prison to prison as the revolutionary juries 
sat, and they did their work with the steadiness of actual 
business. 

The prison massacres began with the Swiss, at the 
Abbaye. They knew what was coming. They were one 
hundred and fifty. A young officer led the way. He was 
very .young and beautiful, and the murderers fell back. 
He folded his arms. The bayonets came nearer. He 
rushed forward, grasped five or six of the bayonets in his 
arms, and fell upon their points. 

They all died — their commander, one Major Redding 
being the last. He said he would see his men out. There 
were not enough wagons to carry the bodies to the cata- 
combs, so they were heaped up until the return of the tum- 
brils. 

Benches were set for women to see these massacres, and 
they and their children danced round the dead bodies. 

At the “ Abbey ” prison the prisoners were shot down 
in the chapel, and while two priests, eighty and white- 
haired, were preparing them for death. 

Some anticipated execution by suicide. 

One Sombreuil, a prisoner, was condemned to death, and 
ho was loosed to the mob. Ba^mnets were at his breast, 
when his daughter, who was waif.iug in the midst of the 
murderers, flung herself before him and asked for his life. 


284 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


The crowd accorded it upon one condition — that she 
should drink a glass of blood, then flowing from one of the 
dying. 

This she did, and saved him. 

Another father and daughter, the Gazettes, left the 
prison together — he condemned, she free. But the daugh- 
ter cried that she would die with him. So they spared both 
lives. So far, the national madness had not destroyed pity 
for women. 

The King’s first gentleman, one Thierri, being pierced 
by a pike, cried, God save the King !” and died, waving 
his hat as he was transfixed to the woodwork to which he 
clung. 

A deputy of the National Assembly came to one of the 
prisons, to claim two prisoners; whom obtaining, as he 
passed from the prison, the murderers, eating as they sat 
on the bodies of their victims, asked him, “ Are you tired 
of life?” 

«No.” 

Then see the heart of an aristocrat ! ” 

The speaker tore the heart from the gaping breast of the 
dead man upon which he was coolly seated. 

Yet these murderers refused all recompense. The first 
bands were men of comparative education ; but, not being 
bred butchers, they soon sickened at the task, and left it to 
be continued by men of more iron nerves than theirs. 

Blood had by this time, drenched nine ‘prisons. From 
one alone, the tumbrils had removed one hundred and 
ninet}^ bodies. 

Sixty assassins ; this was the number to be seen at each 
prison door, waiting for the blood of the aristocrats. 

Meanwhile, one hundred and sixty heads fell upon the 
scaftbld, some being those of women. The poor Princess 
de Lamballe, the Queen’s devoted friend, was not one of 
those saved. She had followed the royal family to the 
Temple prison, but she was torn from them after a few 
days. She was a very young widow, passionately loved by 
her father-in-law, who lived far away in the country. He 
forwarded 12,000Z. to save her life, if possible. It was her 
want of courage, or, perhaps, ability to dissemble, which 
cost this poor lady her life. On September 3rd, she ap- 
peared before the tribunal. She had passed two days con- 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


285 


tinually fainting; and when ordered, with feigned brutality, 
by two National Guards to follow them, she asked permis- 
sion to die where she was. One of them leant down, and 
whispered, It is to save you,’^ 

Upon coming before the tribunal, the sight of the blood 
all about deprived her of consciousness. It was long before 
she comprehended wliat was required of her. 

“ Swear the love of liberty and equality, and hatred of 
kings ! ” 

“ I swear the first,’^ she said, but not the second. It 
is not in my heart.” 

One of the judges whispered to her — “ Swear every- 
thing, or you are lost.” 

She remained silent. 

Well — when you go out, cry ^ Long live the nation ! ^ ” 

She nodded ; but upon being led out by two men, one of 
them a leader in the massacres — one Grand Nicholas, — 
upon sight of the dead bodies, she cried, ‘‘ Good God ! how 
horrible ! ” 

Nicholas put his hand over her mouth. They had trav- 
ersed half the street in safety, when a drunken barber, try- 
ing to strike off her cap with his knife, wounded her in the 
forehead. The men about believed her condemned, and in 
a few moments she was dead, her head cut off, and set 
amongst the glasses on the counter of a wine-shop, where 
they drank to her death. The barber then set the head 
upon a pole, and carried it in procession to the Temple. 
There the crowd forced an entrance, and insisted upon 
shewing the head to the ex-Queen. 

The King was called upon to show himself to the people ; 
and tliough an unknown friend endeavored to prevent Louis 
from seeing the head, the kind intention was foiled, and 
the King recognised the features. Marie Antoinette was 
now demanded, and she presented herself to the people; 
but the King, active for once, saved his wife from the sight 
of poor.Lamballe’s head. She only learnt what had hap- 
pened in the evening. 

Three days’ murders ! At two other prisons, five hun- 
dred and seventy-five victims awaited burial. At the end 
of the three days, the murder of women was common. A 
beautiful girl, one of the people, having wounded her lover 
from jealousy, and he being a national soldier, she was 


286 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


burnt alive, under circumstances of peculiar atrocity, sug- 
gested by the wretched woman, “ La Belle Heleise,” whose 
advancing madness w^as her excuse. Her own time, when 
she was to he lashed by her own sex, was fast approaching. 

A negro — a huge giant — was especially famous during 
these three days. He, it is said, killed over two hundred. 
He gave himself no rest ; stopped only to drink wine, 
and, naked to the waist, was a fearful sight, seen, as he 
habitually was, with the fair head of a slain woman swing- 
ing in his left hand. At last, he himself was slain, but 
not for two years, during which, where blood flowed, he was 
ever to be seen. At the end, he said he had revenged him- 
self, not upon the enemies of France, but upon the enemies 
of his race — the whites. 

It is said ten thousand fell in those three days and 
nights. 

The murderers began at last to turn upon one another. 
Especially was this the case with the bands who adopted 
death bj’^ burning. 

A weaver — one Laurent — drew up a list of those it was 
intended to kill, and placed upon it the name of a trades- 
man, who refused to give him credit. The tradesman, 
having a friend in a member of the National Assembly, 
threw himself upon his protection. The name was erased, 
and Laurent’s written above it ; and when Laurent pointed 
to the tradesman at the place of execution, he was himself 
seized, and cast into the flames. 

Meanwhile, the Prussians on the frontier were preparing 
to advance. 

This threat of invasion gave the public sentiment an im- 
petus towards panic, which there was no resisting. 

The National Assembl}’’, which was composed, for the 
greater part, of men of ripe age, was practially abolished 
by the constitution of a “ Convocation,” in wh icil the ma- 
jority of the men of power were under thirty, while 
amongst them, several were scarcely more than of age. 

The King, once in prison, it has been seen how the fact 
was followed by the fearful massacres of September 2nd, 
3rd, and 4th. Scarcely were they complete, than the men 
in power began to protest against their enormity, and it 
was endeavored to be shown, with some success, that these 
wholesale murders were perpetrated by a fierce organization 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 287 

of but comparatively few men, wbo cast this great shame 
upon France. 

Certainly, the same men were at the doors of the various 
prisons, while the rough order established amongst them, 
far more clearly pointed to the operation of a secret society, 
than to the sudden unorganized rage of a maddened people. 

The Convention was really divided into Girondists and 
Jacobins — the former led by Koland and Vergniaud, their 
party being distinguished by moderation ; the latter, led by 
Robespierre (now rapidly becoming the leading man in the 
Revolution), Danton, and the miserable savage, Marat, 
who even condescended to attract the approbation of the 
lowest rabble, by wearing rags, as clothes, offensive from 
very want of cleanliness — a shape of vanity fortunately 
rarely to be found. 

The life or death of the King was really the question of 
the Convention ; it was the test of Royalty or Republican- 
ism, and no man knew this better than Robespierre. It 
was by the exercise of this knowledge that he rose to 
power — to that power, by the exercise of which almost all 
the men who had formed a portion of the National Assem- 
bly, who were members of the Convention which super- 
seded the Assembly, were sent to the scaffold before he 
himself mounted the fatal ladder. 

It was evident how things lay when the question of 
lodging the President of the Convention was mooted. It 
being proposed that he should lodge in the Tuileries, then 
called the National Palace, Tallien cried, ‘‘ Why, out of 
this chamber, your President is but a plain citizen ; there- 
fore, if he is wanted, let him be sought for in the garrets 
where, in general, only truth and virtue are to be found.” 

Danton and Robespierre were now mortal, although con- 
cealed, enemies. They knew that one must destroy the 
other — which ? 

The theory of a republic was now declared ; it was the 
first step to the beheading of the King, to whom I will now 
return. 

The Temple, to which the royal family had been taken, 
was an old building, half monastery, half castle, which had 
once been one of the strong-holds of those monk-soldiers, 
the Knights Templars. It was composed of a couple of 
towers, one seventy feet high, the other much smaller, and 


288 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


a large space of ground, surrounded by a comparatively low 
wall. This enclosure contained many houses, and espec- 
ially a very fine building, once the palace of the Templars 
themselves. Many of the windows of the surrounding 
houses, which formed part of the lowest quarter of Paris, 
overlooked these grounds, in which there was an avenue of 
chestnut trees, and a pretty garden. 

The towers had not been used for almost hundreds of 
years, and the contents of their several floors were of the 
most wretched description. The rooms themselves, built 
round a central staircase, were desolate in the extreme j 
while the walls being nine feet deep, the windows loopholes, 
and even these barred, it need not be said that the interior 
was never wholesomely light. 

The royal prisoners were taken to the old palatial build- 
ing upon their arrival, and the poor King at once expressed 
a sense of relief at the serenity his wife and children now 
enjoyed, compared with the dangers they ran at the royal 
palace. 

The family supped together, and the King, as usual, ate 
heartily. The municipals told off to watch the prisoners, 
stood during the meal, but this slight semblance of respect 
was soon to disappear. 

Louis chatted cheerfully as to what their life should be 
— how he would be his son’s school-master — how the garden 
was large enough for exercise — how they should live, and 
employ the day. He even inspected the rooms, the beds, 
the linen ; in a word, was once more the man he had 
always been — a rather quiet spirited, inquisitive, active, 
dull man. 

But this respite lasted only during a few hours. The 
King had appointed the various bed-rooms, but before the 
Dauphin could be put to bed in the one set down as his, an 
order came from the authorities, ordering that the royal 
family should be lodged in the smaller tower. 

They waited until after midnight before their new place 
of imprisonment was ready, and then themselves carried 
what was wanting to the tower. The King’s servant ask- 
ing where his master was to be lodged, the municipal offi- 
cer replied, Your master has been living under gilded 
roofs ; he will find none here, and learn at the same time 
hov\ we lodge the murderers of the people.” 


LOVE A^’D LIBERTY. 


289 


Madame Elizabeth was lodged in the kitchen, on the 
ground floor ; the so-called Court on the second ; the King, 
Queen, and children, on the floors above. The walls and 
the floors were bare, except for some obscene pictures on 
the walls, which the King took down, turning them to the 
wall. 

The King went to bed, and fell asleep. Kot so the 
Queen, who remained awake the whole night. 

The next day, adapting himself to even these fallen cir- 
cumstances, the King ordered the day’s plans ; and pushing 
about the room, came upon a small collection of books, 
chiefly Latin — a discovery which once more brought a smile 
of pleasure to his face. 

Ten days afterwards, 20th August, and when the royal 
family had retired for the night, the noise of many advanc- 
ing feet awakened them. The authorities of the prison 
came armed with orders from Parliament, to deprive the 
royal family of every attendant who had hitherto followed 
their fortunes. The agony the Queen experienced upon 
parting with the Princess de Lamballe was intense. 

From this night,” cried Marie Antoinette, I do date 
my captivity.” 

Within a fortnight, as I have related, the poor Princess 
de Lamballe’s head was raised on a pike to the window of 
the Queen’s prison. One Tison’s wife was appointed to 
look after the Queen ; while Simon, afterwards celebrated 
for his cruelty to the Dauphin, and Eocher, a mere brute, 
were the gaolers-in-chief. 

It was Eocher who never passed b}" the Queen without 
blowing clouds of tobacco-smoke in her Majesty’s face. 

The walls of the Temple were ablaze with comments 
upon the royal family. Here might be read an attack upon 
Louis’s stoutness, there a savage comment upon the Queen. 
Even the children were not spared. For instance, this sen- 
tence was scrawled upon the walls : What are King’s 
children ? Whelps who ought to be strangled before they 
are old enough to devour the people.” 

The unfortunate captives at last dreaded to take the air ; 
the guard saluted whenever a municipal passed by, but they 
reversed arms as the King went by. 

At last, they limited the number of steps the royal fam- 
ilj^ might take when exercising. 

18 


290 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


The upper windows of the house overlooking the prison 
were now the only consolation left to .the unhappy royal 
captives. But that comprehensive freennasonary of misery 
with which we are all somewhat acquainted, the friends of 
the fallen family, who were still at liberty, took the upper 
rooms, from which they could see their King and his fam- 
ily. The captives soon learnt, by almost indescribable 
signs, the windows which were friendly to them. This one 
would show a white flower ; from another, a hand w'ould bo 
waved ; and now and again a placard would be raised for a 
moment. 

On the 24th of September, the King, having fallen 
asleep after dinner, was aroused by a great tumult in the 
street, below his window. 

It was the people declaring the abolition of royalty, and 
the declaration of a republic. 

‘‘My kingdom,^’ he said to the Queen, “has passed 
away like a dream, and it has not been a happy dream. 
God gave it me, and the people take it away. I pray that 
France may be happy.” 

On the evening of the same day, one of his gaolers 
asked the King brutally, if he knew that he was living in 
a republic. 

“ I have heard it,” he replied ; “ and I have prayed that 
the republic may deal justly with my country. I have 
never placed myself between the people and their happi- 
ness.” 

So far, the King had been allowed to wear his sword and 
his heraldic orders. 

“ You must know,” said his gaoler, “ that the republic 
has suppressed these baubles ; so take them off. You are 
now but a citizen, as we are, and must be as we are ; yet, 
what you want, ask the republic for, and you shall not be 
denied.” 

“ I thank you,” said the King calmly. “ I want for noth- 
ing.” 

Very calmly, he continued his interrupted reading. > 

Amongst the books he read at this time were “ The Life 
and death of Charles I, of England,” and the “ Decline and 
Fall of the Koman Empire.” 

The Convention, however, had not behaved illiberally to 
the captives. The members assigned twenty thousand 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


291 


pounds to their use ; but very little was really expended in 
the direction it was intended to go. The royal family were 
wretchedly otf for clothes. They had borrowed here and 
there ; and the Queen herself employed many hours daily 
in mending and patching the clothes of the family, which 
had been much torn during the day which ended in the 
imprisonment of Louis and his family in the Temple. 

The English ambassador, in fact, was the chief donor of 
the clothes which enabled the royal family to be the pos- 
sessors of a mere change of linen. 

It is said that the wretched gaolers vied with each other 
in making the fallen captives shed tears. That man who 
succeeded was envied by his comrades. Well has it been 
said that the success of a revolution which was the result of 
generations of misgovernment, had fallen heavily upon those 
royal personages who had least helped to produce the na- 
tional hate of royalty, while that victory had of itself driven 
the vanquishing people into madness. 

But the last degradations had not been put upon the 
Bourbons. Soon there came an order from the Convention, 
to the effect that the King was to be utterly separated from 
his family. 

They were now to be debarred that last consolation of 
the unfortunate — to suffer together. 

The despair which ensued even moved the wretch, Eoch- 
er. But the order was imperative, and that night the King 
W'as removed from the small tower, and was imprisoned in 
the larger. He was now quite alone. 

This occurred before the termination of September ; and, 
as though to make the desolation still more complete, the 
whole family were utterly deprived of the means of writing, 
even to each other. Not a scrap of paper was allowed — not 
a pencil — not even a fragment of chalk. 

The great tower was being repaired. All the accommo- 
dation offered to Louis was a bed and a chair, set in heaps 
of brick and plaster rubbish, which overspread the floor. 

Poor man ! nature compelled him to be active ; and, 
therefore, being deprived of reading and writing materials, 
he passed this first excruciating night of his acutest misery 
in counting the steps of the sentinel as he passed up and 
down in the corridor outside the King’s cell. 

This night, the King, for the first time, shed tears. His 


292 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


only companion was a valet, named Cl^ry, who had been 
appointed by the municipal authorities when the King’s 
servants were removed. He was a Kevolutionist j but his 
heart was in the right place. 

The one fragment of hope to which the king clung on 
this wretched night was the suggestion made by this valet, 
that as he had, since his appointment, dressed daily the 
hair of the ladies of the family, that he should be able to 
carry messages between them and the King. 

Daylight dispelled this hope. It was intimated that 
Clery was not to leave the tower — that the isolation of the 
King from all exterior communication must be complete. 

When the man made application to this eftect, the 
answer he scofiSngly received was, Your master will never 
see even his children again.” 

“ ’Tis an outrage upon nature ! ” urged the King, when 
he was visited by the authorities. “ You murder five 
hearts in one — you do that, indeed, which is worse than 
murder ! ” 

The authorities turned their backs upon the King, not 
deigning to answer him. 

All that was brought him as food on that first morning 
of the separation from his family, was a piece of bread, and 
a pot of water, into which a lemon had been squeezed. 

“They have forgotten we are two,” said the King, ad- 
vancing to Clery, and breaking the bit of bread in half ; 
“ but I do not forget. Take this ; the remainder is enough 
for me.” 

The servant refused, but the King insisted ; and so the 
valet took it, and w’ept as he ate. The King also wept. 
What a picture to contemplate ! — a king and a valet eat- 
ing a fragment of bread between them, and tears falling 
upon the wretched meal ! 

The King again asked for news of his family, and a re- 
ply not forthcoming, he entreated that he might have some 
books given him to drive away the hours. 

The Queen had passed the night in a series of fainting- 
fits ; but, even at that pass, that far higher spirit than the 
King’s, which had begotten her so much of the popular 
hate, still supported her. The King, though weeping, could 
eat half the morsel of bread — she resolutely refused to 
touch food. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


293 


This determination startled the municipals. They were 
answerable to the Convention for the prisoners. What if 
the Queen should starve herself to death ? 

“Well, they shall dine together to-day,’’ said a municipal 
officer; “and to-morrow the Commune must decide.” 

The Queen, holding her children in her arms,. flung her- 
self upon her knees, and began rapidly prajflng — so also did 
Elizabeth. 

“ 1 believe,” said the brutal Simon, “ that these con- 
founded women are even making me weep! Bah!” he 
added, turning to the Queen ; “you did not let tears fall 
when you caused the people to be assassinated, on the 10th 
of August!” 

“ I never harmed human being,” said the Queen. 

The Commune decreed that the family should take their 
meals together. The members knew somewhat of Marie 
Antoinette’s determination, and they found that, if separ- 
ated from her husband, she really would die from inanition, 
it has to be recorded that the re-union of the King and 
Queen, during the last four months of their lives, was due, 
not to the pity, but the fear, of their gaolers. 

But they only met at meals, and then they were com- 
pelled to speak French onl}^, and in a loud voice. The 
children were never again allowed play about their father. 
This family was killed by inches. Their hearts were dead 
before the knife of the guillotine mercifully released them. 

Clery took pity upon them, and, at the risk of his own 
liberty'and life, forwarded, by his wife, who was allowed to 
come and see him once a week, a line of farewell to this or 
that friend, from the King and Queen. These adieux, 
some of which still exist, are written with the stump of a 
pencil, upon the margins of printed pages, and which were 
torn from books. 

The King’s cell was, in a few days, set in something like 
order ; but, with a refinement of cruelty beyond description, 
the walls were hung with a paper representing the interior 
life of prisons. 

Now quite desolate, this is how the King spent his time. 
He rose at daybreak, and, kneeling, prayed for a long 
time. Then, the light quickening, he went to the window, 
and read the ])salms for the day. After this, the King read 
what books he could obtain — he read many scores during 


294 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


his captivity — and this reading appeared entirely to occupy 
his mind. At ninCj the family met, when he kissed them 
all on the forehead. After breakfast, he taught his son in 
various branches of knowledge. The Dauphin, precocious 
in misery, had by this time tested the dispositions of most 
of the sentinels ; and when one he knew to be less brutal 
than the majority mounted guard, the poor child ran with 
the news to his mother, and he was happy for the day. 

At two, the family again met, and dined. But the King 
dared not give way to the fine appetite which never desert- 
ed him at any period of his life, for he knew not only that 
the quantity of food he ate was recorded, and the amount 
spead over Paris, but that the Queen herself was exceed- 
ingly desirous that this weak point in the King’s prison- 
life should not give cause to enable it to be said that the 
King’s appetite in prison was so great that necessarily he 
must be hardened and callous to a degree. 

After dinner, the King and Queen were allowed to 
remain for a brief time together — na}', they were allowed a 
pack of cards and a set of chessmen ; but they were forbidr 
den to speak in a low tone to each other, and a sentinel 
alwa^^s kept the unhappj’^ couple within view. 

At four, the King generally fell asleep, when the family 
remained religiously silent. 

At six, the lessons were re-commenced with the Dauphin, 
and these went on until supper-time, when the Queen her- 
self undressed the Dauphin, who said, in a low tone, the 
following pra3'er: “Almighty God, who has created and 
redeemed me, I love jmu. Watch the days of mj” father 
and my family, and save us from our enemies, and give my 
mamma, and my aunt, and sister strength to bear all their 
trouble.” 

The Dauphin put to bed, the Queen read aloud to the 
King, her daughter, and Madame Elizabeth. 

At nine, the king was conducted back to his prison, 
wliere he read until midnight, when he went to bed, and 
slept until daybreak. He, however, did not retire until he 
had learnt who was master of the guard for the following 
day. It the name was one associated with kindness, the 
K'.iig’s heart was light, and he fell asleep with utter 
serenity. 

1 lie prison was ver}’’ damp, and, after a time, the King 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


295 


fell ill. Clery watched him, and himself fell ill as Louis 
became convalescent. This valet, long after all was over, 
recounted some beautiful particulars of this illness. 

The Dauphin would nurse him, and passed day after day 
in the man’s sick-room ; while the King himself would 
often come in the night, bare-footed, and merely in his 
night-dress, to see how the valet was progressing, or to give 
him medicine. 

It being ordered that more bolts should be placed upon 
the doors of the tower in which the King was imprisoned, 
the mason eniplo^’-ed to sink the holes in the stone-work 
into which the bolts were to run, going to a meal, and 
leaving his work tools upon the ground, the King took up 
a chisel, and began laboring at the means taken to 
strengthen his prison. The mason recognised the King at 
this labor. 

“ Ah,” said he when j’ou leave this place, you will be 
able to say you worked at j^our own prison.” 

“ And how shall I leave it ? ” asked the King, who sud- 
denly drew' his son tow'ards him, and retired to his cell, 
where he paced up and down a long while. 

The w’atch w'as intense. Every loaf of bread sent to the 
royal table w'as searched and broken, the fruit — the very 
kernel of a peach, upon one occasion split to find a letter.” 

A deputation arriving, asked the King w'hether he lacked 
anything. 

- Yes,” he said ; my wife and family want clothes — 
you see we are in rags.” 

Meanwhile, the King’s cousin, the Duke of Orleans, who 
had become a Kepublican under the name of Citizen Philip 
Equality, uttered no word in favor of his royal cousin lan- 
guishing in the Temple. 

Another misfortune now fell upon the King. It will be 
remembered how' fond the King w'as of lock-making. His 
master in the art, one Gamain, had loved the King dearly, 
but he turned upon the fallen monarch. It appears that 
prior to quitting the Tuileries, the King, being desirous of 
hiding certain treasures, and especially certain papers 
received from abroad, relative to the schemes in progress 
for helping the King b}' the invasion of France, he had 
w'orked with this blacksmith at the formation of a hiding 
place in the w’alls of the palace for the iron box, whi'ch con- 
tained these papers and valuables. 


290 


LOVE AND LIBERTT. 


After the arrest of the King, Gamain fell ill of a slow 
consuming illness, probably low fever, when gradually he 
convinced himself that a certain glass of water the King 
had himself handed the locksmith, while they were both 
putting the finishing strokes to the hiding. place, was poi- 
soned, and that the King’s motive was a conviction that 
tlie secret of these State papers could only be safe through 
his, the blacksmith’s^ death. This man must surely have 
been overpowered by delirium when such a conviction took 
j^ossession of him. His illness continuing, the thought of 
revenge took possession of him ; and finally, he denounced 
the whole aftair to the Convention. 

This act did more to send the King to the scaffold than 
any other process executed 'against Louis XVI. In the 
first place, the theory of the poison was at once accepted, 
and it appeared necessarily very feasible to a multitude 
ignorant of the question of poisons ; and, in the second, no 
proof could be brought against Louis of conspiring with a 
foreign Power to invade France ; an act which was treason 
— therefore one which, proved, called for the penalty of 
death. 

Gamain led the way to the spot where lay concealed the 
liidden treasure, and upon papers found in that box Louis 
XVI was put upon his trial. 

The King became accustomed to captivity — found it 
almost rest — rest which was disturbed only on December 11 
(1792), when the noise of an approaching procession drew 
the attention of the royal family to their windows. 

The King learnt that he was to be put upon his trial. 
Two hours afterwards, he was on his way to the Conven- 
tion. 

To him, the city appeared as though besieged. Every 
soldier around the royal carriage had had served out to him 
sixteen cartridges. 

The King looked wretched. His razors had been taken 
from him, and his hair was rough and scrubby about his 
face. He had grown thin, and his clothes hung miserably 
about him. But he was quite unmoved. 

He took his seat quietly before the Convention. 

“ Citizens,” cried the President, “ Louis Capet is at the 
bar. You are about to give a lesson to kings.” 

The accusation was then read. It accused him of high 
treason in calling upon the foreigner to enter France. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


297 


He listened quite nnmovedly until he was accused of 
^‘ehedding the blood of the people.’’ He raised his e3’es to 
heaven. It was clear he had not anticipated being called a 
sanguinary’’ prince. 

At the close of the first day’s examination, the King’s 
fatal appetite failed him, and he refused an offer to obtain 
refreshments ; but almost immediately afterwards, seeing a 
soldier gnawing a piece of bread, he asked for a part, and 
ate it with relish. 

Upon the return-ride to the Temple, he counted the 
number of streets. 

It was the King’s sister, Elizabeth — a veritable angel, — 
who foresaw what was to happen. 

“Was the Queen mentioned in the indictment?” she 
asked. 

“ No,” replied the King. 

“ Thank heaven ! ” said the good Princess ; “ for if the 
Queen were taken, who, then, should look after these 
children ? ” 

These very words foretell what the Princess foresaw — 
that if the Queen’s blood was demanded, her own would 
follow. 


CHAPTER LI. 

THE king’s trial PROCEEDED WITH. 

The King had scarcely quitted the Convention upon the 
occasion of his first appearance there, than he was accorded 
the privilege of even the commonest prisoner on his trial — 
that of choosing two counsel for his defence. The King 
chose two — one named Trouchet ; the other. Target. Ihe 
former willingly accepted the office ; the second dreaded to 
appear as the accomplice of the King; and wrote a cow- 
ardl}’^ letter, saying, to defend Louis Capet would be to out- 
rage Ins own principles. But this precaution, so far from 
sjiving him, marked him out to the terrorists as a man who 
was a' coward, and, in his turn, he was drafted to the scaf- 
fold, undefended and unlamented. 


298 


LOVE AND LIIJERTY. 


An old man, and a great one, of a family notorious for 
their wisdom and their justice — one Malsherbes, aged 
seventy-four, and who had served twice as a Minister dur- 
ing Louis XYI’s reign — took the position offered to the 
wretched man. Target, and refused by him. 

Indeed, he asked for it. The act is well worth admira- 
tion. At seventy-four, when most men are weary of life, 
this good man asked for a position which he knew was one 
which might involve the forfeiture of his own existence. 
Said he, I was twice summoned to the council of him 
who was m}” master at a time when everybody was ambi- 
tious of the post, and I owe him this service now that this 
office is, in the eyes of most persons, one of danger ; and 
had I the means of acquainting him with my wishes, I 
should not seek another mode of striving to serve him ” (lie 
was speaking to the President of the Convention) ; “ but I 
think, seeing the position you hold, that you can most 
safely convey to Louis XVI my desire to serve him.’^ 

The Convention, violent as were its members, reverenced 
this devotion of friendship, and honest Malsherbes was 
appointed to the task of defending the fallen King. 

“ Malsherbes,” said a friend to him, as he was leaving 
the Convention, “you are the friend of Louis XVI; how 
can you bring him papers in which he will read the expres- 
sions of the wrath of the people against him ? ” 

“ The King is not like other men,” returned M. de Mal- 
sherbes. “ He possesses a great mind, and such faith as 
raises him above all things.” 

“ You arc an honest man,” replied the friend. “ But if 
3’ou were not, what is to prevent }’ou from bringing him 
poison, as a weapon, or advising him to commit suicide ? ” 
Malsherbes hesitated for a moment, and then he replied, 
“If the King were of the religion of the philosophers — 
were he a Cato or a Brutus — he might kill himself. But 
he is pious — he is a Cdiristian — he knows that religion for- 
bids him to la^' violent hands upon himself, and he will not 
commit suicide.” 

Malsherbes went dail^’ after this to see the King, to com- 
mune with him upon the defence which was to be set up. 

But of what avail was an}’^ defence? The question was 
not whether or not the King was guilty, but whether or 
not his death would be of advantage to the establishment 
of the republic. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


299 


During these final days of his life, the King was entirely 
deprived of the consolation of seeeing his famil3^ He was 
now kept conipletel}^ isolated. However, hy the mere}’- of 
Clery, his servant, on the one hand, and that of Turgj'^, the 
Queen’s attendant, on the other, the desolate couple com- 
municated. A few words were written on a morsel of thin 
paper, which, being folded, a needle was run through it, and 
it was in this condition concealed in a hank of sewing- 
thread, which was put in the Queen’s work-box by Turgj', 
w'ho placed the thread, and its answering line, in Clery’s 
wa}’, who convey'ed it to a place where the King M'ould look 
for it. 

Louis XVI never had any doubt that he would be exe- 
cuted. On the other hand, he does not appear, up to the 
time of his trial, to have assumed for one moment that the 
Queen would suffer. 

Before his sentence w^as pronounced, he made his will. 
It is a long document. Here are some of the chief lines in 
this testament : — “ I, Louis XVI of that name, and King 
of France, confined for four months in the Tower of the 
Temple, at Paris, by those who were m}’’ subjects, and de- 
prived during eleven days of all communication with even 
my famil}?-, and, moreover, implicated in a trial, the outcome 
of which no man can with certainty foresee — for who can 
measure the passions of men ? — having no one, save God, 
as a witness of my thoughts, or to whom I can address my- 
self, do here declare, in His presence, this mj’- last will and 
testament. I bequeath my soul to God, my creator, and 
pra}' that, in all his merc^q he will accept it. I die in the 
faith of the Church, and bow to its law's. I pray the good 
Lord to forgive me as I have forgiven. I have striven 
hard to remember some of my sins, and to abominate them. 
I bow before God. I beg all that I have accidental!}’’ 
injured — for by my wdll I never hurt human being — to for- 
give me the harm the}' may believe I have caused them. 

“ I pray all men of charity to add their prayers to mine. 
I pardon, from the bottom of my heart, all those who are 
my enemies, without that I have given them cause to be 
other than my friends ; and I ask God to pardon them also, 
for they know not what they do. I also pray pardon for 
those whose zeal in my cause has done me so much harm., 
I recommend to God my wife and children, my sister, my 


300 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


aunts and brothers, and all those belonging to me through 
blood, or by any other way. I pray heaven to look pitying- 
ly’^ upon my wife, and children, and sister, all of whom have 
too long suffered with me,, and to strengthen them if they 
lose me, so long as they shall remain in this world. To my 
wife I recommend my children, whom she has never ceased 
to love ; and I pray niy wife to teach her children to look 
upon the pomps and vanities of this world — if they should 
be so unfortunate as to suffer them — only as dangerous and 
vanished possessions, and to turn their thoughts to eternity. 
And I pray my sister to be gentle as ever to my children, 
should they have the misfortune to lose her.’’ 

This is the first time, in sooth, the King betrays the least 
intimation of his fears that his blood will not suffice to ap- 
peased the national rage. And even here it may be doubt- 
ed whether Louis does not rather refer to natural than vio- 
lent death, for the Princess Elizabeth was younger than the 
Queen. It will be seen that, even at this pass, and solemn 
moment, the King has not the least thought that the Prin- 
cess herself will be despatched below the knife of the guil- 
lotine. . 

The King’s will continued : — 

I pray my wife to pardon me all she has suffered, and 
will suffer, on my account, and all the sorrow I may have 
caused her in my life, as she may be certain I forgive her if 
she can possibly suppose that she has ever caused me a 
grief. 

I pray my children, after their love to God, which is 
above all, to love one another, and to live in peace ; to be 
grateful and obedient to their mother ; and in memory of 
me, I pray them to look upon my sister as their second 
mother. 

“ I pray my son, should he be so luckless as to become 
King, t ) forget the troubles I shall have passed through, and 
to iorgive the people, who know not what they do, that which 
they will accomplish. Let him not forget that he was 
born for the happiness of his subjects; that he can onlv 
reign safely by upholding the laws ; and that he can only 
do this while his power lasts. Once let him lose power, and 
he becomes more injurious than ever he was useful ; and, 
above all, let him remember the load of debt I owe to the 
children of the men who have already fallen in defending 
my cause.” ^ 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


301 


[Tliese words are obviously the result of Louis’s study of 
the history of England, of the stigma that rests upon the 
memory of Charles II, through persistently ignoring the 
just claims of the children of the men who had died in 
the cause of his beheaded father, Charles I.] 

The King concludes his will by recommending Clery to 
the Convention, and asking that the sword, purse, jewels, 
and other ornaments taken from him may be given to that 
person after the writer shall be dead. 

He signed the will “ Louis,” as though he still reigned. 

This will is sublime in its simplicity ; its Christianity, 
pity, regret, and massive setting aside his life as past awaj", 
are all very beautiful points ; while the belief that his death 
would compensate all, and that the country would not visit 
his faults upon the heads of his family, shows still an 
amount of faith in his people which is truly touching. 

Upon the defence being read, the King found it opened 
with an appeal to the people, and a description of the wretch- 
ed condition of the royal family. The two counsel and the 
King, M'ho were the only people who heard this defence 
read, and which had been put into form by the reader, De- 
seze, were all moved at the beauty of the language. 

But the King was inflexible. 

All that must be struck out,” he said. 

And he insisted — for was he not a dying man ? The 
wishes of the dying are obeyed. 

After the reading of the defence, the King, being left 
alone with Malsherbes, he was tormented by the thought 
that he could not compensate his counsel for their labors. 

^^Deseze and Trouchet,” he said, “owe me nothing. 
They gave me their time, exertions, and, perhaps, their lives, 
and I cannot pay them. Even if I leave a legacy, it will 
not be paid. Again, what could pay such work as theirs ? ” 

“ Sire, you have the power of repaying them.” 

“ How ? ” 

“Take them, for one mere moment, to your heart.” 

So, next day, wdien the two gentlemen came, he held 
open his arms, and pressed these brave men, one after the 
the other, to his heart. 

This was all that he had to bestow — a royal accolate, the 
peaceful kiss of a dying man. 

At this second examination, they gave the King a suit of 


302 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


clothing, in which he looked at worst passable. But another 
shape of indignity was put upon him : he was kept waiting 
in a cold waiting-room during a whole hour. 

The King was advised not to shave, that the savagery of 
his gaolers in even depriving him of so common a necessa- 
ry as a razor should move his judges. But the King refus- 
ed to avail himself of this theatrical effect. He was rather 
fitted to fall with dignity into the repose of death, than to 
war, fight, battle for life. 

Louis XVI forgave the men who were to co-ndemn him 
before they tried him ; but his very pardon became his 
most perfect revenge in the eyes of posterity. 

The King’s counsel spoke logicallj", but with no power of 
W'ords. Having finished. Lours XVI, who had followed 
his advocate as though rather interested for this gentleman 
than for himself, rose and uttered these words : — 

You have now heard the grounds of my defence, and I 
shall not repeat them. In speaking to you for the first, and 
perhaps the last, time, I declare that I can accuse m 3 ^self of 
nothing; that my advocate has spoken the truth, and noth- 
ing but the truth. I never feared that all I did should be 
make public, but I grieve that you accuse me of spilling 
the blood of the people. And that the misfortunes of the 
10th of August are attributed to me. I had thought that 
the numerous evidences of love for my people which I have 
shown would have placed me above such an accusation. 
This is not the case, and I must bear with what has happen- 
ed. I declare that I exposed my life to save the shedding 
of one drop of the blood of my people.” 

He turned, and left the chamber. 

“Let him be judged ! ” cried Bazere. 

“’Tis time the nation learns if she is right in wishing to 
be free, and if this is a crime ! ” 

“ I ask,” cried Languinais, “that the sentence be declar- 
ed by a ballot of all France ! ” 

“ To prison with Languinais ! ” cried many voices. 

“ You are too openly^ a Loyalist,” cried Thuriot. 

“ Why,” cried another, “he wills to try us, and make 
Louis himself judge.” 

“ And I sa}^,” replied Languinais, fearlessly, “ that you 
constitute yourselves accusers, judges, jury, and execution- 
ers. Let the people declare themselves ! Let there be lib- 
erty of speech, to declare whether the King shall live or die.” 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


803 


Down with him ! ” cried a voice. 

You shall hear me,’^ cried Languinais. 

Put him upon his trial ! place him in the dock, and let 
him instantly be tried ! 

“ To prison with him ! ” 

Silence was at last restored; hut when Languinais sat 
down, he knew he was a condemned man — he knew nothing 
could save him. 

Meanwhile, in an antechamber, where the murmurs of 
his judges were audible, the King’s counsel were endeavor- 
ing to cheer him wuth a little hope. The people had demon- 
strated w'ith somew’hat of kindly feeling in favor of the 
King at various theatres. 

On his return to the Temple, the King having nothing of 
value with which he could partially repay his counsel, took 
off his laced cravat and gave it to Deseze. 

On the 1st of January, after the French fashion of wish- 
ing friends a happy new year, Clery approached his mas- 
ter’s bed and offered him best wishes for the continuance of 
his life. 

The King put his hands together and prayed, for he 
remembered that this was the day in the year when his 
thousand courtiers flocked to his palace to congratulate 
him. 

Rising, he sent to ask if his daughter was better (for the 
Princess was ill), and to wish the Queen a happy 7iew year. 

From the first to the 16th of January, he was kept 
immured in the great tow’er of the Temple, perfectly iso- 
lated. No one was allowed to see him, not even one of his 
family. The fallen King passed his time reading the his- 
tory of England, especially the volumes of the life and 
execution of Charles I — history which appeared to fascinate 
him. 

Meanw'hile, the members of the Convention were daily 
disputing the question of the King’s life or death. 

St. Just now rose to the surface. Unpityingly he cried, 
“ If the King is innocent, the people are guilty. You have 
declared martial law against the tyrants of the whole 
world, and spare your own. The Revolution only begins 
where the tyrant ends.” 

Another cried, “ If with this, my hand, I alone could 
strangle all tyrants, I would not hesitate to rid the world of 
them.’^ 


804 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


But the rising party in the house lived by favor of the 
eager revolutionists, whom they dared not oppose. With 
them it was necessary that the King should die. 

Another, upon another day, cried, “ We have lost three 
hours tliis day talking of a thing they call a King. Are 
we, then, revolutionists ? No ; we are vile slaves.” 

Camille Desmoulins stuttered, “ Let him be killed, with 
this word on his brow — ^ Tratior ! ^ and this on his back — 

< King ! ’ ” 

Another cried, “ Henceforth, let murderers and thieves 
be buried in the royal vaults ! ” 

At length the Convention agreed to the plan of every 
member of the Convention voting upon these three 
questions : — 

1. Is Louis guilty ? 

2. Shall the decision of the Convention be submitted to 
the ratification of the people. 

3. What shall be the sentence ? 

To the first question, nearly seven hundred as against 
about a dozen, voted “ Yes.” 

On the second, two hundred and eighty voices voted for 
the appeal to the people ; four hundred and twenty-three 
against it. 

It was now (January 16) that Danton first betrayed his 
insatiable thirst for blood. 

“I thought,” cried he, ^^we were assembled for other 
purposes than those of the drama.” 

Tis a question of liberty ! ” cried several voices. 

“ Question of liberty ? ” cried Danton. “ ’Tis a question 
of a comedy^ — that taking off the head of a tyrant with the 
axe of a King ! I demand that we do not separate before 
we have pronounced sentence upon Louis ! His accomplices 
have fallen without delay, therefore let him fall at once ! ” 

Everything declared in favor of Louis’s death by this 
same January 16. On this day itself, a poor fellow named 
Louvain, who had been one at the taking of the Bastille, 
venturing to say that the republic ought to be established 
without the death of Louis XVI, a friend and companion 
near him plunged his sword into his breast. 

In the evening, a book-pedlar, suspected of royalism, 
leaving a public reading-room, was accused by the people 
of distributing pamphlets in favor of the King’s cause. He 
was assassinated with thirty dagger-thrusts. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


805 


IJpon this day the soldiery swept over Paris, brandishing 
their swords, singing patriotic songs, and looking eagerly 
for the least signs of opponents. 

In a certain church in Paris, the hearts of past-away 
kings were kept in silver vases. These were seized and 
broken open, and the contents cast into the common sewer. 

At the Hall of the Convention a fearful scene was pro- 
gressing — the voting upon the sentence. It is night-time, 
and the hurriedly raised black hangings suggest more an 
execution than a place of justice. The Convention is held 
in an old monastery — dark, drear, and wretched. A few 
scattered lanterns make the darkness visible, and throw 
a pale light upon the faces of passers-by. At the two 
principal entrances are cannon, the attendant artillerymen 
with the continuously lighted fuse in hand. The cannon 
is there rather to be turned upon the members of the Con- 
vention than to intimidate the people. 

“ His death — or thine / ” 

These were the words each Conventionist heard as he 
passed into the Hall — words uttered in whispers, but which 
shook the hearers as though they were thunder. 

Persons who knew the various members were present, 
who received them and commented upon their opinions. 
As Danton, Marat, Pohespierre and Camille Desmoulins 
passed, the ranks showed all the signs of respect. Others 
were threatened. Languinais passed through a forest of 
thrusting pikes to reach the voting table. 

The Hall itself was very dark, the benches being filled 
with young and beautiful women of the people class. Be- 
fore them were a number of butchers, reeking from their 
slaughter-houses. 

Fifteen hours had the deputies sat — few remained. Of 
those present, some were in little groups — others had fallen 
asleep. 

The first votes left everything in uncertainty. Heath 
and Exile were voted alternately. 

Vergniaud, the leader of the Girondists, who had sworn 
to save the King’s life, whose vote would control that of 
all the Girondists, voted “ Heath ! ” 

The King w^as doomed, because the Jacobins were all 
certain to vote “ Death ” to a man. 

19 


806 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


Robespierre started, and Danton said, in a low, scofSng 
voice, “ These are your orators ! ” 

The last man but one called to vote was the King^s 
cousin, the Due d’Orleans, Philip Equality. It was 
thought the ties of nature and of blood would compel him 
to vote for exile. 

He said these words : — 

“ My thoughts being fixed wholly upon duty, convinced 
that whoever shall now or hereafter attempt to establish 
monarchy in this land is worthy death — I vote death /” 

This man, this monster to his own blood, had in early 
youth been so abject a coward, that, during a naval engage- 
ment between the French and English, he had gone down 
into the cock-pit, whence no one could induce him to 
remove until the action was over. The cowardice of his 
youth was well supplemented by his voting the King’s 
death. 

Even Robespierre condemned him. Retuniing to Du- 
play’s house in the evening, he said, “ The miserable man I 
He was expected to listen to the pleadings of his own 
heart, and vote exile ; but he would not, or dared not. The 
nation despises him henceforth ! ” 

The monstrous act did not save him from the Reign of 
Terror. He died on the scaflbld — the most guilty wretch 
who there ended life. 

Followed the man Orleans, a deputy, lying on a hand- 
bed. He was dying, and he voted death ! 

A herald arrived from the King of Spain, interceding 
for the King’s life. 

Danton rose to speak, without the Speaker’s permission. 

“ Thou art not yet King, Danton ! ” cried a voice. 

“ I am astounded at Spain’s insolence ! ” cried Danton. 
“ I desire that war against Spain be immediately declar- 
ed ! ” 

The intercession damaged, rather than benefited, the 
royal cause. 

The scrutiny of the votes now commenced. 

Three hundred and thirty-four voted for exile or impris- 
onment. 

Three hundred and eighty-seven voted for death. Thus 
death was in a majority of fifty- three ; but, by subtracting 
from this number the forty-six voices which had also voted 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


807 


a suspension of the execution of death, the majority in 
favor of immediate death was seven ! 

The Girondists, who did not wish for the King’s' death, 
had voted his execution, and tliereb}' favored their enemies, 
the Jacobins, whose thirst for deatli was unquenchable. 

On the morning of the 19th January, Louis, who had 
been by this time restored to his family, saw Malsherbea 
approaching him. The old man fell on his knees. 

“ I see,” said the King ; Death ! ” 


CHAPTER LII. 

NEAR THE BLOCK. 

The King, learning that he was to die at once, became a 
man almost heroic. 

With calm curiosity, and as though making inquiries 
concerning the affairs of another man, and not of his own, 
he learnt the particulars of the voting; and he made 
special inquiries concerning the votes of various members 
of the Convention. 

Potion and Manuel,” he said, — “ I am sure they did 
not vote my death ? ” 

No answer returned. 

And m}’^ cousin, the Due d’Orleans, — how voted he ? ” 

Malsherbes bowed his head. 

The King now exhibited the first signs of pain — of 
agony. 

“ That vote affects me more than all the rest.” 

This was as the words of Caesar, falling, ^^And yow, too, 
Brutus?” 

Here a posse of authorities arrived, to announce his sen- 
tence to the Kiiig, with all the pomp and display of circum- 
stance. 

The King stood up, his head erect, his eyes upon his 
judges, and he listened to his fate — death within twenty- 
/four hours — with the intrepidity of a brave man. One look 
towards heaven, as he heard the words which curtailed his 
life, and then he was once more facing his enemies. 


808 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


The coramuication read, the King advanced, and, taking 
it, put the document very calmlj’’ into a little portfolio. 

‘‘ Sir,” he said to the officiating minister of the Conven- 
tion and speaking half royally, half supplicatingly, “ I re- 
quest 3^ou to deliver this letter to the Convention.” 

The secretary hesitated to take the paper. 

“I will read it to you,” said the King; and he com- 
menced. “I demand from the Convention three days, in 
which to prepare my soul for God, I require freely to see 
the priest, whom I am about to name, and that he be pro- 
tected while extending to me the charity of his holy office. 
I demand to be freed from the shameful watchfulness which 
has surrounded me now for many days past. I ask, during 
tnese my last moments, leave to see my family when I will, 
and without witnesses. And I pray most earnestly that the 
Convention will at once take into consideration the fate of 
my family ; and that they may, after my death, at once be 
allowed to go whither they will. I recommend to the love 
of the nation all persons who in any way have claims on 
me. These are, manj’^ of them, old men, and women, and 
children. Many of them must be in want.” 

These words show that even at this point the King had 
not the least thought of the popular vengeance going be- 
yond himself, and falling on the Queen. He cannot com- 
prehend that they will kill women and children — his faith 
in loyalty and manhood is too strong to admit of any such 
suspicion in his breast. The faults of Louis, those rather 
of apathy than action, were many ; but he was a brave and 
loyal gentleman, who certainly could not comprehend cow- 
ardice. 

The name of the minister for wffiose holy office the King 
asked, and wdiich was written upon the separate piece of 
paper, was Abbe Edgeworth de Eermont — a gentleman de- 
scended from a good Irish family. 

The secretary took the two pap'ers ; w’hereupon the King 
bowed, as though dismissing his ministers at Court, thereby 
intimating his desire to be left alone. 

The minister retired. 

When they were gone, the King walked up and down his 
prison with a firm, steady step. Suddenly he looked up — 
his fatal appetite, that scourge of the Bourbons, was upon 
him — and asked for his dinner. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


309 


It was served without a knife — a spoon replacing that 
utensil. He was far more indignant at these precautions 
than at hearing his death-warrant read. 

“ Do they think me such a coward,” he cried, as to de- 
prive my enemies of my life ? Do they think if a knife is' 
given me to feed with, I shall save the guillotine the trouble 
of destroying me ? Poor creatures ! I am accused of pub- 
lic crimes — I have committed no crimes ; and, therefore, why 
should I so much fear death as to anticipate its terrors. I 
die innocent, and therefore, fearlessly. I would that my 
blood might atone for France, and that thereby the troubles 
1 foresee coming be averted.” 

At six o’clock, Garat, the reader of the sentence, and San- 
terre, had an interview with the King, to bring the answer 
of the Convention to his commands. 

The Convention had decided that no farther time should 
be given to the King. A few members had shown some 
sentiment of mercy. The reply was the exhibition of half 
a dozen sabres on the part of the fiercer deputies, who de- 
clared that if these men who pleaded for the concession of 
the King’s request were not silent living, they shquld be 
mute dead. 

These courageous men, however, fought the good fight of 
pity through five hours. 

A majority of thirty-four refused all delay. 

One man, Kersaint, protested with a reckless nobleness of 
courage, which has placed him in the rank of great heroes. 

He gave in this written protest : — 

Citizens, — 

It is impossible for me any longer to support the dis- 
grace of sitting in the Convention with blood-thirsty men, 
when their opinion, aided by terror, prevails over that of 
good men. If the love of my country has forced me to en- 
dure the misfortune of being one in a body of men amongst 
whom there is a section who applaud the murders of Sep- 
tember, I will at least defend my memory from the charge 
of having been their accomplice. I have but the present 
moment in which to do this act ; to-morrow it will be too 
late.” 

The Convention was angered, not confounded, by this 


310 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


language. The Minister of Justice was charged to inform 
the Citizen Louis that he could seethe priest whom he had 
named, and that he could see his family without any interfer- 
ence by his gaolers, — ^.but that on the morrow he must die. 

The King accepted the decision without a murmur ; for 
he did not so much battle for those days’ longer life, as ask 
for a few hours’ pause between life and eternity. 

He asked Malsherbes to seek the priest. 

“ ’Tis a strange request to make to one of the school of 
philosophers,” he said, with a smile ; “ but I have always 
preserved my faith as a curb on my power as a King. As a 
consolation in mine adversity, I have proved it in the depths 
of m}’’ prison ; and if ever you should be sentenced to a 
death similar to mine, I trust you may find the same solace 
in your last moments.” 

The Abbe Edgeworth and the ex-King were old and fast 
friends. The priest did not hesitate a moment, and at once 
hastened to the prison, albeit he knew that the probability 
was that he would never be free again. 

Abbot Edgeworth was taken from his obscure lodging, in 
the first place, to the Convention, where many of the mem- 
bers made a demonstration in admiration of his courage ; 
fur, by this time, to be a priest was to be in danger of 
death. 

With the fall of the King’s head, the utter Beign of Ter- 
ror was to commence. 

Garat, while in his carriage, conveying the Abbot to the 
Temple, broke out into admiration of the King. 

“ Great heavens ! ” he cried, “ with w'hat a terrible 
mission am I not charged ! What a man is this Louis 
XVI — what resignation he shows, and what courage ! Ko 
mere human strength could give such force j in this there is 
something of the supernatural.” 

The priest remained silent j he hesitated to betray him- 
self. 

Hot a word more was said up to the moment when 
the carriage stopped at the Temple. 

The Abbe remarked that the first room through which 
they passed was filled with armed men. Thence they 
passed to a larger apartment, which the Abbe saw had 
been a chapel ; but the signs of religion had been swept 
away — the altar was broken in pieces. . 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


811 


Here the Abbe was seached for weapons by a number 
of rough men, while the minister passed up into the King’s 
cell. 

When the Abbd followed him, the old man fell at the 
King’s feet, and burst into tears, with which the King min- 
gled his own. 

“ Pardon me,” said Louis, raising him, “ this is indeed 
weakness ! I have so long lived amongst my enemiers, that 
I have grown to think little of their hatred, and my heart 
has grow n hard and callous. But the sight of an old friend 
restores to me that tenderness which 1 thought was long 
since dead, and I weep in spite of my will to be unmoved.” 

Then, taking the priest by the hand, he drew him into the 
little turret which served him for a studio. In this room, 
all that w'as to be found consisted of a couple of chairs, a 
small earthenware stove, a few books, and an ivory crucifix. 

“ I have,” said he to the Abbe, “ arrived at that moment 
in my life when I must earnestly seek to make my peace 
W'ith heaven, so that I may humbly hppe to pass from a 
weary life to one of peace and quietude.” 

With these words, he produced his will, and read it over 
twdce to the Abbe, electing him as his judge in this final 
act of life. He feared that, in the very act of pardoning his 
enemies, he might accuse them, and he was specially desirous 
that any appearance of this nature should be avoided. 

His voice onlj^ faltered w'heu he spoke of the Queen, his 
sister, and his children. He lived now only in the love he 
had for his family ; apart from them, he had resigned all 
thoughts of life. 

A calm conversation ensued. The King inquired after 
many old friends ; speaking, not with the air of a man who 
is vanishing into death, but with the appearance of a man 
who, after absence, asks eagerly for those he loved and left 
behind. 

Hour after hour passed away, and still the Abb4 waited 
for the King to give an intimation that he wdshed to pray 
with the minister. 

At seven, he w^as to have his last interview with his fam- 
ily ; and as this moment approached, he appeared to dread 
it far more than the thought of the scaffold. 

He was unwilling that so great an agony as this parting 
must necessarily be, should trouble the calmness of his 


812 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


death, which, obviously, he looked upon m the light of a 
sacrifice. 

The Queen and princesses had the news by this time, for 
the street criers bawled the fact of the next day’s execution 
of the King under the very windows of the Temple tower. 
All hope was dead ; and the only sentiment which swayed 
them was this : would the King be prevented from taking 
a last good-bye — would he be prevented from kissing them, 
and blessing them, before he went forth to die ? 

One last word — one last kiss ! — this was now the bound- 
ary of the wishes of the once brilliant Marie Antoinette, 
one of the proudest princesses, and, as a wife, one of the 
greatest martyrs, the world has yet seen. 

At last the members of his family were told that they 
were to see the King prior to his execution. And this was 
their joy in the midst of a desolation from which their only 
relief was death itself. 

The poor creatures prepared for this interview hours be- 
fore it could take place. They asked incessantly of their 
gaoler if it was time for the King’s arrival, and bore 
patiently with the rough, rude answer only too frequently 
bestowed upon them. 

The King himself, though apparently more calm, was 
equally agitated. He had never experienced but one atfec- 
tion — that for his wife ; but one friendship — his sister’s ; 
but one joy — his children. The cares of the throne may 
have hidden much of these qualities, but never extinguish- 
ed them ; and, in his adversity, they had flowed back in 
the shape of a wealth of consolation. 

Nevertheless, the King’s calmness, almost callousness, ap- 
pears amazing in its contemplation. Ke-entering the ordi- 
nary room, or cell, in which he 'passed his imprisoned days, 
he began to set in order to receive the Queen. 

“ Bring some water, and a glass.” 

Clery pointed to a caraffe standing on the table. 

“No,” said the King; “it is iced; and I fear, if the 
Queen drinks it, that it may disagree with her.” 

The door, at last, was thrown open, and the Queen, lead- 
ing her son, threw herself into his arms, and was about to 
lead him to her chamber. 

“No, no,” whispered the King ; “I may only see you 
here.” 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


313 


Madame Elizabeth fbllowed, leading the Princess Royal. 

Clery closed the door upon the family ; and, for the first 
and last time since their return to Paris from Varennes, 
they were unwatched. The King was almost dead, and 
dead men can do no harm, even to revolutionary authori- 
ties. 

The King gently forced his wife to sit on his right, while 
his sister he placed on his left ; and, as he sat down between 
them, they put each an arm about his neck, and laid their 
heads above the heart which, in a few hours, was to cease 
heating. The Dauphin was on his father’s knee, while the 
little daughter’s head lay in her father’s lap. 

It is said that for more than half-an-hour not a word was 
spoken ; but the sudden hursts of grief, and especially the 
Queen’s frantic, terrific screams, were heard not only 
throughout the prison, hut positively in many of the 
streets adjacent to the gaol. 

Yet nature is very good, and enables us to hear our trials 
by the force of physical weakness. But soon, indeed, the 
miserable family, their eyes exhausted of tears, were able 
to talk in low whispers, to console each other, and to give 
each other many agonized last embraces. This dread agony 
lasted through an hour and a half. The ex-royal family 
had been together two hours. 

Of those five unhappy people, only the little Princess, 
aged seven or eight, lived to tell in after years, what hap- 
pened at that interview. They confided to each other what 
they had thought about during their separation ; repeated 
promises over and over again to forget and forgive all their 
enemies, should either of them ever come to power ; and, 
finally, sublime prayers, offered by the King, to the effect 
that he trusted his death might cause the nation the loss 
of not one drop of blood. The directions he gave his son 
(so soon to follow him into the grave) were not royal, but, 
better, they were Christian. 

Those who listened — miserable creatures — heard only a 
low, sweet murmur. 

At last the King rose. 

The moment had arrived. 

The Queen threw herself at the King’s feet, and entreat- 
ed him to allow her and her children to remain with him 
all night. This request, in mercy, he would not grant j 


314 


LOVELAND LIBERTY. 

but warded off the request by gently intimating ttat he 
must have some hours’ tranquillity, in which to gain 
strength to die fittingly. 

He, however, promised his family that they should see 
him at eight in the morning. 

Why not at seven ? ” asked the Queen. 

“Very -well — at seven,” he replied. 

“You promise ? ” cried the women and children. 

He then led them to the door — they uttering louder cries 
as he did so. 

“ Adieu, adieu ! ” he cried, in a voice equally yearning 
after passing-away love, and an expression of hope in the 
future. 

The poor little Princess here fell inanimate at her father’s 
feet. The attention the Queen now gave the child amelior- 
ated the agony of that parting. 

The King availed himself of the heart-rending event to 
turn away. He closed the door, and the agony of royalty 
was ended. 

“ Ah ! ” he cried, entering the turret, where the Abbd 
Edgeworth was awaiting him, “ what a scene ! Alas ! why 
do I love so deeply — why am I so deeply loved ? ” 

He paused for a few moments ; then he added, “ But I 
have done with to-day — let me prepare for eternity.” 

At this point Clery appeared, and asked the King to 
take some refreshment. Louis refused at first ; but even 
at that ghastly pass his appetite asserted itself, and he ate 
and drank during five minutes — only bread and wine ; and 
this he did standing, after the manner of a traveller hur- 
rying on a journey. 

The priest now asked the King if he would like early in 
the morning to communicate. 

The King turned, and a last look of pleasure shone upon 
his face. He was essentially a religious man, but he bad 
despaired of being permitted to take the communion, for 
the Convention, amongst other things, had abolished the 
theory and practice of the Lord’s Supper. 

The Abbe therefore sought the commissaries on duty, 
and asked for the necessary articles, without which, accord- 
ing to the Roman Church, the ceremony of the communion 
cannot be effected. 

The gaol authorities were excessively confused. On the 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


815 


one hand, they were ashamed to refuse this consolation to 
a dying man ; on the other, the constitution of the coun- 
try then held that this belief in transubstantiation, or the 
passage of the bread and wine into the actual body and 
blood of Christ at their raising, was a superstition. 

“ And if we give you permission,” cried one of the lead- 
ing men, “ how do we know you will not cheat the scaffold of 
his blood by poisoning him with the holy wafer ? It is 
well known to us that certain kings have been poisoned in 
the holy wafer, given to them as the very blood of the 
Bedeemer.” 

“ I can set that doubt at rest,” said the Abbd. You 
can yourselves supply me with both bread and wine.” 

The hope of “communicating” elevated the dying King 
almost to ecstasy. He fell upon his knees, and until far 
into the night recited the simple, almost innocent, sins of 
which he had been guilty. A very innocent and simple- 
hearted man, the list could not have been formidable. 

Then he lay down, and fell asleep, as calmly as a little 
child — as though that final night was to be succeeded by a 
long and peaceful morrow. 


OHAPTEB LIII. 

THE SACRIFICE OF BLOOD. 

The Abbe, meanwhile, prayed unceasingly in an outer 
chamber, and separated only from the King’s by a wooden 
partition. 

He and Cler}’’, the recently-appointed but faithful attend- 
ant on the King, heard the condemned man’s breath regu- 
lar and peaceful, uninterrupted by cries or restlessness. 
His heart beat regularly, with no more fear than is experi- 
enced by clockwork which has nearly run down, and is 
about to stop. 

At five, it was necessary to awaken the King. 

“ Has it struck five ? ” he inquired, of Clery. 

“ Not yet, by the town clock,” the man replied but 
several bells have sounded the hour.” 


816 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


“ I have slept heartily,” remarked the King ; * I suppose 
because, yesterday, I was very much fatigued.” 

Clery now lighted the fire, and helped his dying master 
to dress. 

The King ^^communicated,” the altar being raised in 
the room in which he usually sat. 

He took the substantiated, or, rather, consecrated, bread, 
witli awful gravity, but with utter calmness. 

While the priest was disrobing, the King retired to the 
little turret ; and here, being joined by Clery, the good ser- 
vant knelt, and requested the King’s blessing. 

Louis XVI raised his hand, and desired him to convey 
that blessing, through himself, to all who loved their King, 
and especially to those of his gaolers who had shown to the 
royal family anything like pity or kindness. 

Then, leading the valet to the window, he gave him, so 
that those watching through the glass of the doors should 
not see the act, a seal, which he had detached from his 
watch, a small parcel, taken from his bosom, and the 
wedding-ring with which, at their royal marriage, the 
Queen had pledged her faith to him. This ring he took 
from the hand upon which he had worn it since placed there 
at his marriage. 

When I am dead,” he said, ^^you will give this seal to 
my son, and this ring to the Queen. Tell her that I give 
it up with great pain, and only because I do not will that it 
should share in the profanity to which, of course, my body 
will be subjected. And this little parcel has in it locks of 
the hair of all my family. Give it, also, to my lady. Say 
to the Queen, and to my most dear children, and to my 
sister, that though I promised to see them this morning, I 
meant to spare them the grief of another bitter separation. 
It costs me more than I can describe, to go without kiss- 
ing them again ! ” 

Here he wept, for the last time in his life, it being one of 
the very few occasions when he was moved to tears. 

“ I give to you,” he added, in a sweet, low, suppressed 
voice, — “ I give to you my last farewell, to take to those I 
love ! ” 

Clery retired, weeping, though his tears were an evidence 
against him which might cost him his life. 

A moment passed, and the King, leaving the little room, 
asked one of the gaolers for a pair of scissors. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


317 


WLat for, citizen ? 

“ I wish the Citizen Clerj^ to cut off my hair j it is the 
only legacy I have to leave my family.” 

“ ’Tis well,” said the gaoler. 

And Clery performed this ghastly office. 

Clery, turning to the commissaires, said, “ And now, 
citizens, I beg that I may be allowed to accompany the 
Citizen Louis Capet ” — he dared not call him King ; to 
do so would have termined his own life — “ to the scaffold. 
I seek permission to perform this last office, and that it 
may not be left to the executioner.” 

“ Bah ! The executioner is good enough for him / ” cried 
one of the more influential commissaires. 

The King turned away. 

The Abbe, following him some moments afterwards, 
found the King calmly warming himself near the stove, 
and evidently contemplating his approaching end with a 
certain calm joy which was to be envied by very many of 
those who had condemned him. 

“ Good heavens !” he cried, ‘^how glad I am that while 
on the throne, I maintained my faith in the Eternal ! 
What now would be my sufferings, if I had not steadfast 
hope in the world to come ! Oh, yes ; above there is a 
Judge of courage, who cannot be influenced or threatened 
— who will judge me honestly, and accord to me that 
justice which has been denied me in this world.” 

The winter day now broke, and light struggled between 
the bars and planks which combined to shut out light from 
the royal prisoners, one of whom was now destined soon to 
be free. 

The roll of the drum, on one side or the other far and 
near, now was heard ; hurried steps passed ; the click of 
arms could be distinguished ; and soon horses, heavily 
mounted, were hej^rd beating along the street. 

A heavier sound — cannon, and strongly-built tumbrils or 
wagons were heard, taking up their position in the court- 
yard of the prison, and about its entrance. 

The King, true to the last to his marvellous character — 
which his friends describe, as one not to be swayed by pas- 
sion, which his enemies analyzed to be one of callousness 
and incapability of feeling, not only with regard to others, 
but even for himself — the King commented on these sounds, 


318 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


not as though they affected him and his life, but as though 
they were an agreeable puzzle he was putting together. 

^‘’Tis probably the National Guard assembling,’^ he 
said, in a half curious voice, to the still praying Abbe, 
when the first roll of the drum swept through the cold 
morning air. 

A few moments passed, and the trampling of horses’ 
hoofs at the foot of the tower attracted his attention. 
Then followed the voices of officers, giving military direc- 
tions. 

“ They are come,” he said. 

He spoke without impatience or fear, after the manner 
of a friend quietly waiting for a friend, and at last hearing 
the amicable step upon the stair. 

And now the King’s last torture — not his execution, for 
that was in mercy extended to him — commenced. 

Through two long hours was this poor man tortured by 
a refinement of cruelty for which there can be found no 
extenuation, to which no parallel can be discovered. 

Through these two hours came frequent summonses at 
the door. Upon each occasion the King rose, ready. Up- 
on each occasion some poor, petty excuse was made. He 
himself (the King) opened the door, answered the wretch 
and coward who tortured him, bowed civill}^ when he learnt 
his presence was not required, and closing the door, waited 
until a fresh summons beat upon his heart. 

Ah, posterity cannot forgive those acts ! Long must the 
question remain unsettled whether or not Louis XVI was 
rightfully put to death. Possibly he but paid the debt his 
ancestors had incurred. Millions had died of starvation. 
Taxes annihilated industry through generations previous 
to the uprising of the people. Even salt was weighted 
with a tax which caused it to be sold at an enormous rate 
— thirty pence a pound. Finally, Louis may have been 
guilty, as a man who was false to his oaths to keep the 
land of France free of enemies, of calling foreign help to 
France. It must be felt that when his throne was sinking 
from beneath him, other kings, in the interests of thrones, 
being desirous of maintaining Louis upon his, would wil- 
lingly offer that foreign aid which it is felt Louis had been 
more than humanly self-den3nng in refusing. He fell a 
sacrifice to the errors of the two Louises who had preceded 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


319 


him on the throne — a blood compensation for the waste, 
luxury, and sensuality of half a dozen generations of 
rrench nobles. 

The measure of the people’s misery being full, they rose, 
and rose successfully. Their mistake — one which ultimate- 
ly suffocated all the good it was intended they should effect 
— took the shape of success, intoxicating itself with victory. 

Give a lesson to kings not to exceed their duty — yes. 
All France knew that the English E-evolution, which sent 
Charles I to the block, had resulted in a social condition in 
England which offered an example for France to follow. 

But having once passed upon a man the dignity of 
approaching death ; having thrown round him the darkness 
of the coming tomb — to crush his heart — to humiliate him 
— to embitter his last moments — to play with his life as a 
cat with a poor, palpitating mouse — to try to resuscitate 
the desire to live — to seek to change the calmness of resig- 
nation back into the whirlpool of despair — these are not 
the acts of men, but demons. 

Yet let not these acts be set down to the people. In 
times of trouble, all the scum boils to the surface, and it is 
the surface we see, not the clarified water below it. Few, 
very few men completed the murders of September ; seven- 
eighths of all France knew nothing about these wholesale 
murders until they were achieved. 

But the miserable attempt to torture the King’s last 
hour upon earth failed utterly — he was beyond attack. 
His soul had already passed away. 

At nine o’clock there was a tumultuous noise upon the 
staircase, and now there was a summons at the door. It 
was thrown open. 

As far as the King’s eyes could stretch were armed men 
—all gazing towards Louis. 

Santerre appeared, attended by twelve municipals, and 
ten gendarmes, all of whom fell into two lines in the apart- 
ment. 

The King turned to the little turret door, and with his 
hand upon it, looked towards Santerre. 

In this final moment all the reserve and imperiousness 
of a prince returned to Louis XVI. 

You are come for me,” he said. Await me — and 
for a mere moment.” 


320 


LOVE AND LIBERTY^ 


He paused, closed the door, and knelt at the minister’s 
feet. 

It is finished,” he said. ^^Bless me, and let me go.” 

A moment, and he rose, came out, placed himself smil- 
ingly between the double row of armed men. In his hand 
was a paper. It was his will. Addressing himself to the 
man who appeared to be the chief of the squad, he said, 
1 pray you to give this letter to the Queen.” 

The Republicans started, and the act reminded the King 
of the error he had committed. 

“ To my wife,” he said, correcting himself, to please the 
Republican ears. 

“ It’s no affair of mine,” replied the man addressed, and 
in savage tones. “ I’m not here to carry messages to your 
wife, but to take you to the scaffold.” 

This unhappy creature, one Jacques Roux, had actually 
been a priest, who had thrown off the cassock and joined 
the revolutionary army. 

' “True,” said the King, his head falling. 

But the name of a man in those ranks was to be made 
illustrious amongst pitying and tender-hearted men. The 
King, looking up, glanced rapidly along the two lines of 
faces to find one pitying look. His eyes rested upon one 
Gobeau, a man with a frightful name, but possessed of a 
far better heart. 

“ I pray you give this paper to my wife.” 

Gobeau hesitated, and looked from the King to his com- 
rades, from his comrades back to Louis. 

“ You may read it— if you will. ’Tis but my wishes, 
which I trust the Commune may read.” 

The man Gobeau asked the consent of his comrades, and 
then took the paper. 

The morning was very cold, and to complete the resem- 
blance between the fates of the two beheaded Kings, 
Charles I of England, and Louis XVI of France, exactly 
as Charles’s valet put a cloak round his master, so that he 
should not appear to tremble at the scaffold, so Clery, 
knowing nothing of the parallel, put a cloak about his mas- 
ter. 

Both kings were beheaded towards the end of January. 

“ I do not require a cloak,” he said. “ Give me mv 
hat.” ^ 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


321 


As be took it, he shook the faithful Clery’s hand. Then, 
turning to Saiiterre, and looking him full in th*e face, he 
said, “ I am ready.’’ 

Santerre and his troop rather followed than escorted him. 

The King passed down the staircase slowly, and without 
any signs of tremor. Now, it is in descending a staircase 
that a man, convulsed by agitation, is almost sure to 
stumble. 

The King did not make one false step. 

Beaching the foot of the steps, the King encountered 
one Mathey. 

“ Citizen Mathey,” said Louis, you offended me very 
cruelly last night, and I replied angrily. For the sake of 
this hour, pray pardon me.” 

Mathey, instead of replying, pretended to turn his head 
away, and not see the King. However, it is only just to 
say, in some extenuation of the brutality of most of those 
to whom the King addressed himself during the last hour 
of his existence, that death was now so quickly dealt to 
any man whose words could be twisted into an expression 
of even pity for fallen royalty, that it was only at the risk 
of exposing life that a man could be humane in an answer 
to any question addressed to him by any one of the royal 
family. 

The King was now crossing the court-j’^ard. He had 
achieved half the distance before his heart failed him ; and, 
turning yearningly, he looked towards the tower within 
which the Queen was confined. A moment, and his face 
was towards the people glaring in at the gate. Once more 
he looked, as he passed out of the court-yard ; then he, 
death, and eternity were alone ! 

A carriage awaited him, an armed man standing each 
side the door. One of these men entered the carriage, and 
took a front seat ; the King followed, and took the place of 
honor — the right, facing the horses. The Abbe Edgeworth 
followed, and sat beside Louis. The second gendarme now 
entered, and slammed and fastened the door, and the carri- 
age was at once started. 

Sixty drums lead the way, incessantly sounding, and a 
mass of armed men surrounded the victim. 

The reign of terror had begun, in truth. A Governmen- 
tal order had been issued, forbidding any citizen to show 
20 


822 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


himself at a window ; and the infraction of such un order 
was, in itself, probably a condemnation to death. The 
citizens were also forbidden to cross any of the streets upon 
the line of march. 

A strange effect was this procession. 

The morning was lowering, cold, dead, and damp; and 
the noisy sixty drums, purposely used to drown any cry 
that might he raised, led the way for a hurried, half- 
disciplined, half-armed horde of armed men ; in their midst, 
a carriage, half-filled with two such as those who formed 
the escort. 

And this procession marched through a double row of 
steel — of pikes and bayonets, held by silent men. At dis- 
tances were squads of the regulars, armed and prepared as 
for an action in the field. 

A strange sight ! Thousands of armed men — soldiers 
with cannon and musket, prepared against a numerous foe ; 
a swiftly passing crowd of men, armed to the teeth, jealous- 
ly guarding a carriage half-filled with two such as they 
themselves were, — all against — what ? 

Sixty drums beating to drown — utter silence ! Two 
hundred thousand men, to keep order amongst — space ! 
Armed men — and that w'as all ! 

On the line, not a human being to he seen beyond the 
serried lines of armed men. Not a woman’s form for the 
eye to rest on — every window blind, every street passed, a 
desert. Paris was a city of the dead. Even the market- 
places were silent, and not even the voice of a child was to 
he heard. 

Cannon gaped at every street corner, the artillerymen 
holding lighted matches ; in a w^ord, on all sides were to he 
seen evidences of preparations to meet a formidable enemy 
— on not one was the shadow of an enemy to be seen. 

The King could scarcely be perceived though the forest 
of steel in which he was lost. He wore a brown coat and 
a white waistcoat. His hair was raised up already for the 
executioner’s hands. 

So great was the noise created by the drums, that he 
could not hear what the Abbe Edgeworth said, or even 
what he himself said to that self-devoted gentleman. 

Therefore he took the minister’s breviary, and opened it 
at those particular pslams which he had learnt in his cap- 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 323 

tivity, suited to his situation. These he began to recite while 
the priest prayed beside him. 

It is said the expression of the two men-at-arms were 
those of astonishment and admiration. 

All these warlike preparations were met by the opposition 
of seven or eight opponents. 

The procession moved from the Temple up to the boule- 
vards, the line of which was kept by the procession, until 
it reached the place of execution, on that spot which is now 
the Place de la Concorde. At that point on the line of 
march whicli now lies between the Portes St. Denis and St. 
Martin, occurred the one sign of any opposition to the 
tragedy which was about to he completed. 

There was a sudden stir ; and, suddenly, seven or eight 
young men, sword in hand, rushed from the Kue Beaure- 
gard, dashed forward through the line of armed men, and 
even reached the carriage, they crying, “Help, help, those 
who would save the King!” 

The leader of these frantically-daring young men was one 
Baron de Batz, a man of extremely adventurous tendencies. 
Chiefly by his means, three thousand young men had com- 
bined to eflect this diversion in the King’s favor, and they 
were to respond to the call to arms led by Batz. 

The three thousand made no reply ; the seven or eight 
devoted men stood alone in the midst of nearly a quarter 
of a million of armed enemies. 

But some mercy was shown them, for those about them 
did not massacre the youths, — they were all ver}" young. 
They even escaped into a side street; but here thej^ were 
fallen upon by a squad of gendarmes, rapidly told off for 
that purpose ; and being caught sword-in-hand, they were 
shot down, and left where they fell. 


CHAPTER LIV. 

» t 

EXECUTION OF LOUIS XVI. 

As the Place de la Revolution, the place of execucion, 
came in view, a ray of sunshine fell upon the guillotine— 


324 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


one of those coincidences which the superstitious and the 
wonder-loving remember and treasure up. 

This open space was filled with a hundred thousand of 
the. lowest rabble; soldiers thick, about the scaftbld; and 
high above the people stood a something, the woodwork of 
which was painted a blood-color. 

This was the guillotine! 

The guillotine had only just been introduced. It had 
been invented in Italy, and imported into France by a 
humane doctor, named Guillotin, whose name was cruelly 
taken and applied to the machine, an e being added to 
make it feminine — for, according to the custom of most 
men in most times, a something terrible and merciless is 
always feminine. If the women had the naming, perhaps 
the other gender would as frequently be applied to things 
of terror. 

The guillotine was essentially a humane invention. 
Previous to its introduction, the condemned man knelt 
down and placed his head on a block. A headsman then 
with an axe endeavored to sever the head from^the body. 
The least swaying on his part, and instead of death, a 
wound Avas the result. Often an executioner, unnerved by 
the failure of his first blow, would hack and chop many 
times before the victim ceased to show signs of life, and 
before the head was off the body. 

The guillotine exactly fell in with the views of the 
equallist Kepublicans, for they objected to the executioner, 
because it was a disgrace to a man to be an executioner. 
On the other hand, the guillotine, consisting of a heavy, 
razor-like knife, which worked in grooves, and fell upon a 
neck irrevocably placed below the knife, the head was 
separated at a blow, in a moment, and death achieved with 
the least possible cruelty. 

But if the guillotine was merciful — and of this there 
can be no doubt — on the other hand — it may be questioned 
if so many people w^ould have been condemned to death 
during the Keign of Terror if the old slow mode of decap- 
itation had remained. 

By a singular fatality the head of Guillotin himself was 
taken off by the very instrument he had introduced from 
Italj" into France. 

All the vagabondage of Paris was present at this execu- 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


325 


tion. The trees bent under the masses of people who had 
climbed into them. There was not breathing room, while, 
by connivance of the most bloodthirsty of the revolutionary 
leaders, the spaces immediately round the scaffold were 
occupied by the men who had effected the massacre of 
September. 

These men were there to applaud. 

But when the carriage containing the King drew up be- 
fore the scaffold, the mob was silent — even the September 
men, for a little time, held their peace. 

The King perceiving the carriage stop, looked up, and 
said to the Abbe, “We have arrived, I think.” 

The minister replied by a gesture. 

One of the three brothers Sanson, the three executioners 
of Paris, opened the door. 

The gendarmes got out, whereupon the King, closing the 
door, and placing his hand upon the minister, he said 
authoritatively to those who were pressing forward, “ Gen- 
tlemen, I recommend this gentleman to your care. Be 
brave enough to save him from insult after I am dead. I 
charge you to save him ! ” 

Ko one replied. 

“ I charge you to save him ! ” 

One of them, more sinister than the rest, replied. 

“ Yes, 3"es,” he said ; “ be at peace — we will save him, 
and let us hear no more about it.” 

Louis now stepped from the carriage. 

Three executioners’ attendants came forward, and wished 
to undress him at the foot of the scaffold. 

He waved them back, took off his coat, cravat, and 
turned down his shirt. 

The executioners again approached him. 

“ What do 3mu seek to do ?” he asked, angrily, 

“ Bind you ! ” they said, seizing his hands. 

“ Bind me ! ” the King cried, all the passion of centuries 
of petted and idolized royal blood rising in the veins which 
were now in a few moments to be emp^y. “Never! — I 
will not permit it. Bo 3mur work, but you shall not bind 
me — do not even dream of such a thing 1 ” 

This man, the descendant of hundreds of kings, could 
not, even after recommending his soul to God, uncrown him- 
self The Convention might call him a citizen — but he had, 


826 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


as all kings must, lived in the belief of that half-divinity 
which is still in some places supposed to surround a king. 

The executioners had their duty to do. Here was a man 
to be guillotined. Men who were guillotined had to be 
bound. Then they must bind their man. 

They again approached. 

A veritable struggle was about to commence at the foot 
of the scaffold. 

The King saved himself from himself in time. He re- 
membered the dignity of his death, and he looked towards 
the Abbe. 

Sire,’^ said the man of religion, compare yourself to 
One far greater than yourself, who was bound with cords, 
and who will soon welcome you as a brother.” 

The King looked to heaven, appeased, but the royal pride 
still lingered. 

Truly, only the Divine example enables me to bear this 
disgrace.” 

It is probable this final demonstration, in his very ex- 
tremity, of his superiority to touch from common hands, 
helped to harden the nation against the life of the widow. 
On the other hand, it proved the first occasion on which he 
showed the least sign of impatience with his tormentors. 

“ Do as-you will,” he said. “I will drink the cup to the 
dregs.” 

Supported by the help of the aged minister, he ascended 
the steps of the scaffold, and, it must be admitted, with signs 
of physical fear — the first he had yet shown. Possibly this 
condition of body was chiefly brought about by the actual 
physical resistance he had made at the foot of the ladder. 
Put upon coming to the level, all his natural calmness or 
courage, whichever it w'as, came to his aid ; and, stepping 
quickly forward across the platform without help, he con- 
templated the means of his death. 

< Suddenly, he turned, and faced the people, and used the 
royal gesture of his life. It was quite natural — a habit of 
his life — and testified to no violent defiance of his position, 
and of those who placed him where he stood. 

The drummers ineclianically obeyed. 

“ People,” he said, in a voice which was heard afar off, 
even in the very confines of the square, — “People, I die 
innocent of all the crimes of which I am declared guilty. I 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


327 


forgive those who send me to death, and I pray God that 
the blood j^ou are about to shed may not fall upon France.” 

The crowd trembled — murmured. 

He w'as about to speak again, when the officer of the 
troop gave orders to the drums to beat and the King’s voice 
was drowned. 

He had said enough. Nothing could add to the majesty 
of those few words. The agony was spared him of learning 
who the man was that gave the order which drowned 
his last words. It was the Count d’Oyat, a natural son of 
Louis XV; and therefore by blood, if not by marriage, the 
King’s uncle — Louis XVI being the grandson of Louis XV. 

What a fate ! His cousin voted for his death, and the 
last words he uttered were drowned by the command of his 
uncle. 

The condemned man turned slowly away. As they fas- 
tened him to the plank, he cast one look upon the praying 
minister, and the next moment the plank was sinking for- 
ward, carrying down Louis of France, his face towards the 
earth. 

Another moment — the time for the passage of the heavy 
blade — and Louis of France was dead ! 


CHAPTER LV. 

WHAT FOLLOWS. 

X 

I saw Louis XVI die. 

Go,” said Robespierre, see liberty declared, and a 
King proved to be no more than a man.” 

I stood amongst those at the foot of the scaffold. 

I will say no more than this — Louis died bravely, and 
like a man. And I think the people were sorry. Of course 
they had more to regret before the Reign of Terror was 
over. 

Robespierre changed nothing in his mode of life after 
he came to Duplay’s. He drank water, he lived very tem- 
perately and frugally, w\as always master of himself. By 
the way, another of Duplay’s daughters coming home. Max- 


328 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


imilian actually fell in love with her, in a grave, calm way ; 
and it was agreed that, when liberty was completely ob- 
tained, and France was at peace, that they should be mar- 
ried, live in a cottage, and hide away from the world. 

I had frequently been at the Temple during the incarcer- 
ation of the King, and often saw various members of the 
unhappy family. I am desirious that my hearers should be- 
lieve that the men who surrounded the Capets in their im- 
prisonment, were no more good examples of the revolution- 
ary masses than I am an angel. A few hundred ferocious 
men rose to the surface of the Kevolution, and disgraced it. 
At heart, its adherents sought to make France happy, and 
the people richer. 

But let me return to the course of events. 

****** 

There is very little known of what the widowed Queen 
did or said during the night before the execution, and upon 
that morning itself, beyond the fact that she passed from 
prayer to insensibility continuously. The entire family 
seem to have been conscious, from the first, that the separa- 
tion with the King, on the eve of the execution, was final 
— that his promise to see them in the morning was a pious 
fraud. 

As the morning progressed, after she knew by the lessen- 
ing noise of the drums that he was on the way to execution, 
her great anxiety appeared to be to ascertain the exact mo- 
ment when he died, so that from pra^dng for him, she might 
entreat his soul to pray and plead for her and his children. 

The loud cries of “Long Live the Kepublic,” and the 
rumbling return of the cannon, were the first evidences she 
received that all was over. 

!She appears from that time to have passed into a state of 
half-unconscious moroseness — a condition which is one of 
the mercies of nature, and which only ended in her life. 

She knew, she said, that he would die like a man, and 
that was her consolation, when, with a cruelty beyond 
measure, she was refused any information concerning his last 
moments. 

Clery, the valet, now, apart from her family, the dearest 
being to her in all the world, as the man who had been with 
the King during his last days, — Clery was now a prisoner, 
aud'remained one during a whole month, during which time 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


329 


he had not the faintest approach to an opportunity to give 
the queen the King’s last words, or place in her keeping the 
hair and ring with which the King had entrusted him. 

About these relics tliere is a strange bit of tender history. 
One Toiilan concealed under the most frantic demonstrations 
of Eepublicanism, a sacrificial devotion to the royal family. 
He feared these relics would be wilfully destroyed by some 
drunken, ruthless hand ; and pretending that he would not 
allow the chance of their being delivered to the Queen, he 
insisted on their being placed under the keeping of the 
chief officers of the Commune. 

The Queen asked very humbly permission to wear mourn- 
ing for the King, and this was granted, on condition of ex- 
treme parsimony and meanness. 

There was a special debate, in order to obtain the Dau- 
phin a few shirts. 

The more merciful men of the Kevolution fully expected 
that the death of the King would be followed by the liber- 
ation of the Queen, her children, and the Princess Elizabeth. 
This hope being held out to the Princess Elizabeth, she 
carried the grateful news to the Queen, who heard it, with- 
out interest, and returned an answer almost stupid to this 
good news. Either she knew that a nation who had not 
spared her husband would not spare her, who had always 
been the least liked of the two, or she did not care to live. 
Probably the latter surmise is the nearer correct. 

Her only expression of resolution took place when she 
was requested for her health’s sake to walk in the garden of 
the prison. She resolutely refused. She said she could not 
pass the door of the King’s prison — could not put her feet 
upon the stairs down which he had marched to death. It 
was only at the end of six weeks — at the close of February 
. — that "she consented, for the sake of the children, who 
never left her side, to walk on the platform at the top of the 
tower. Here, between the battlements of the parapet, she 
could be seen from the neighboring houses ; and this tending 
to create pity, it w'as ordered that the spaces between the 
battlements should be filled up with boards — an order which 
pleased the Queen, for it shut out from her sight a city 
which, to her, appeared a mere charnel-house. This in- 
tended petty cruelty — which was a relief — took place towards 
the end of March. 


330 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


The King had now been dead ten weeks, and Marie Antoi- 
nette had yet to live six cruel months. 

Her bodily health was breaking, but she had no knowl- 
edge of this fact. Her heart was dead. She was simply 
decaying. For whole nights she would lie awake, never 
complaining, never showing signs of weariness. 

Her life had passed into wailing. She was weary almost 
of the love of her children. Upon the face, and in her step, 
walk, in every gesture, and at rest, at last, or awake, the 
woman appeared to be pleading, Good Lord, how long 
shall this endure ? 

She was now more closely watched. The Princess Eliza- 
beth, at peace, become essentially a religious woman, con- 
trived to obtain intelligence of what was happening. One 
Hue — once valet to the King when in prosperity — conveyed 
messages through the friendly Toulan into the prison. 
These messages were put in the pipe of a portable fireplace, 
and found by the Princess Elizabeth, who replied in letters 
written with sympathetic ink, so that only those who knew 
how to treat them could read their contents. 

These letters contained minutes of all that was doing in 
Europe in the royal cause. Many promising lines thus 
came to the prison. The Queen heard them read, said a 
vacant word or two, and sank back into her usual condition 
of partial lethargy. 

She only came back to life when she heard the voices of 
either of her children. Then she lived. When they were 
silent, she was dead, though her heart still beat. 


CHAPTER LVI. 

THE REIGN OF TERROR. 

The remains of Louis XVI were conveyed in a cart to 
the graveyard, flung into a hole, and lime cast upon the 
remains, that the bones might never be found, in order to 
be exalted into relics. 

Paris was silent — except for the voices of the more excit- 
ed of the Revolutionists, who overrun the city, announcing 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 331 

the death of the tyrant, and proclaiming the adrent of lib- 
erty. 

The body of the people did not respond to this enthusiasm 
— they did not confound punishment with victory. The 
body of the King was not cold before the people began ask- 
ing themselves whether or not a righteous act had been 
committed. The King’s death left this problem to be dis- 
cussed by the nation. Many years have elapsed as I write, 
and the problem is still discussed — had the people a right 
to kill Louis XVI ? 

The result of the King’s death upon the more moderate 
Republicans, and upon those who had agreed to the new 
constitution, but were Royalists at heart, were in some 
cases terrible. To many, this execution appeared a sacri- 
lege, which must bring down upon the people who had com- 
mitted it one of those vengeances in which heaven demands 
for the spilt blood of one just man the blood of an entire 
people. 

Men died of grief when they learnt the awful facts, and 
many more went mad. 

Women cast themselves in panic from housetops, others 
from the bridges into the River Seine. 

Sisters, wives, and mothers of the Conventionalists, who 
had condemned lovers to death, shrank from them as from 
lepers. 

One of the principal judges at the trial, Michael Lepelle- 
tier, was almost immediately stabbed in an eating-house by 
one Paris, a hot-headed Royalist, who escaped onlj^ for a 
short time. Tracked, he shot himself; and upon the body 
was found a paper bearing these words : — 

I alone did the deed — let no other man be suspected. 
I did not mean to kill the wretch, Lepelletier, but he came 
in my way. I was waiting for the parricide D’Orleans, of 
whom I hoped to rid the world. All Frenchmen have 
become cowards.” 

Three days after, Lepelletier was publicly buried, after 
the antique Greek mode, and thousands were squandered 
upon this pomp. 

Meanwhile the nations were rising against France, 
although about this time the Prussians had been worsted 
by the French on the eastern frontiers. 


332 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


In England, the horror produced was great; and one 
Chauvelin having returned from London to Paris, declaring 
to the Convention that the English masses were ready to 
rise and massacre the King (George III) in his palace, the 
French ambassador at London was ordered to leave Eng- 
land within twenty-four hours. 

The Convention thereupon declared war against Holland 
and England. 

Catharine II, of Russia, revoked the treaty of 1786, by 
which the French were more favored in Russia, than other 
foreigners; and ordered all the French in Russia to return 
to France, who would not swear that they abhorred revolu- 
tionary sentiments. This Empress joined the coalition 
against France. 

The Convention had already declared war against Spain. 

And now, England, Prussia, Austria, Russia, and Spain 
were all at war with France — which was at war with itself: 

Even Sweden had declared against the Republic. Not a 
friendly national face looked upon. France beyond the boun- 
daries. 

In mercy to what was now to happen to France, let it be 
said that, cast upon her own resources, the armies of other 
people advancing upon her by land, and by sea, despairing 
of help from the United States, which had not yet recov- 
ered the blood spilt in obtaining her independence, France 
was panic-stricken at the fear of civil war, and rashly 
sought, by the most unpardonable acts, to exterminate 
this probability bj’- the extermination of all those who 
were suspected of favoring Royalism. 

The leader of blood amongst the Conventionists, im- 
mediately after the execution of Louis XVI, took the 
hideous form of Marat. Dirty, mean, fetid, disgusting in 
look and action, he endeared himself to the most foul 
amongst the lowest by these attributes. But, like Robes- 
pierre, who was a very fop in appearance and action, he 
accepted no public money, and lived most obscurely in 
three or four garret-like rooms, most meanlj’^ furnished. 
This man was the idol of the commonest people, who 
saluted him almost as though a. God : and he must have 
had some occult power of attraction, for a woman really 
beautiful devoted her life and honor to this creature. 
Nor was he without the sentiment of self-sacrifice; for, 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


333 


though dying, though every violent speech he made, 
which was always prefaced by the cry Blood brought 
him nearer to the grave, he never hesitated to exert him- 
self, and quitted his bed or his bath, in which he passed 
the greater part of his time, to go down to the Conven- 
tion, and denounce men on the most frivolous pretences. 

The moderate party in the Convention — the Girondists 
— who in theory desired to save the King, and in practice 
condemned him to death, were by this time in danger. 
They were in the way of the fiercer party, led by Marat, 
Dan ton, and Kobespierre, who were to eclipse both ; and 
these Girondists were already in the hands of their op- 
ponents, condemned to follow the King to the scaffold. 

It was in such language as the following that Marat, 
who gained a poor living as the editor of a very fierce pa- 
per, spoke, in his Friend of the People : 

I pray my readers pardon me to-day if I speak of 
myself ; not because I am vain, or a fool, or because I 
wish to serve the people, and, therefore, must justify myself 
in their sight; for I am accused of being a monster, 
greedy of blood — a tiger, longing for gore ! 

^‘Born with a sensitive heart, carefully nurtured, at 
twenty-one, I was pure, and had long since given myself up 
to knowledge. 

My mother gave much in charity, and all she gave 
passed through my hands. At eight, I could riot endure 
cruelty, and the sight of it enraged me to madness. 

“As a child I was weak, and never did I know the joys 
of childhood. I was so loved, that I was never punished 
but once, when eleven, and then unjustly. I sprang from 
the window of the room in which I was confined, and found 
liberty in the streets,' where, even now, only liberty is to 
be found.” 

He concluded this article : — 

“Restored to health, I only thought how I could be 
useful to the cause of freedom. And yet they accuse me 
of having sold myself, — I, who could amass millions by 
merely selling my silence, — I, who am in poverty and 
W'ant ! ” 


834 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


Strange enough, like Robespierre, Marat firmly be- 
lieved he was an instrument in the hands of God. “ The 
Revolution,” he would say, is the Gospel, and I am its 
apostle.” 

But all the raving in the world could not hide the fact 
that France had suddenly become poor. To be rich, was 
to nn the risk of being accused of being an aristocrat. 
And as all gold and silver was in the hands of the rich, 
and these were flying from France, the land was actually 
being drained of specie. 

Paper money w^as issued — a currency which the people 
mistrusted, as the people always mistrust the unusual ; and 
the Girondists were popularly accused of causing the dis- 
appearance of the precious metals. 

The walls of popular hate were closing round that score 
of devoted men. 

The aspect of the land was horrible. People feared to 
go about in anything but rags, dreading to be supposed 
rich, and therefore only fit to die ; land remained uncultiva- 
ted, for its owners had fled ; and the half-destroyed, empty 
houses of the nobility began falling into ruins. Not a car- 
riage was to be seen, nor a jewel, nor any sign of luxury. 
All was abject, wretched, debased. The bakers^ shops were 
almost like prisons (to this day, bakers’ shops in Paris are 
often barred) ; and the only prodigality was that of wine, 
the manyj^ears store of which flowed in terrible abundance. 
It was cheaper than bread, and steeled the heart to pity. 
Commerce had ceased, and not a sail beyond that of a 
French fishing-smack was to be seen in the French waters. 

Marat now advocated the pillage of every store-house in 
the land, and the hanging of some of the owners in their 
own gateways, as an example to the rest. 

And now that which was most feared occurred — civil 
war. La Vendee, in the north-west of France — the Brit- 
tany of to-day — rose almost to a man, and defied the repub- 
lic. 

Spain now began to pour her soldiers upon the south, 
while Austrians and Prussians were gaining victory after 
victory in the north and east. 

So north, south, east, and west, enemies’ faces were 
turned upon France, while England was preparing to sweep 
her navy around the whole of the coasts of the now devoted 
land. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


335 


The Convention commanded that a black flag should 
float from the towers of the Cathedral of Notre Dame de 
Paris. 

The theatres were closed. 

Only one cry was heard in the streets — “ To arms — to 
arms ! ’’ 

Danton and E-obespierre now quarrelled. One Legendre 
undertook to reconcile them, and they met without previous 
warning. Danton, a bull-dog in ferocity, and with the bull- 
dog’s generosity advanced, and held out his hand. Eobes- 
pierre, with the silent stealth of the tiger, which waits and 
pounces, affected not to see it, ate his dinner in silence, and 
went away, after the utterance of a few words, which were 
the first that openly indicated his intention of betraying 
Danton. 

Danton was beginning to repent. His remorse was nat- 
ural. He had lost his wife, whose death had been accel- 
erated by terror. Unable to endure his loneliness, he sought 
another wife ; her parents rejected him with loathing. But, 
after a little, they pitied his misery, and gave their daugh- 
ter to this strangely compounded man. 

Danton now contemplated what was done after Napoleon 
had reigned and lived, after Louis XVIIl had reigned and 
died, after Charles X had been driven from the French throne 
— the giving of a King to France, not belonging directly 
to the hated Bourbons, but to the younger branch, the 
Orleanists, the leader of whom, Philip Equality, had voted 
Louis XVI’s death. He was never crowned ; he died on the 
scaffold. His son, Louis Philippe, ultimately became King 
of France. 

Philip Equality refused the proposal. 

Meanwhile, the convention was becoming a mere field of 
battle. On one particular night, the two sides clash — a 
poniard is drawn, a pistol is clapped to a breast, and murder 
is nearly done. It is felt that one party must be swept 
away, or nothing will be done. The moderate party, the 
Girondists, twenty-two in all, are to-night nearer the scaf- 
fold by a long journey than they were in the morning. 

Marat is declared a traitor by two hundred and twenty 
voices, against ninet3’^-tw’0. Marat defies the vote, throws 
himself into the arms of the people, and is borne home in 
triumph. 


336 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


The people rise in his favor. 

On the 24th of April (the Queen has been waiting death 
during three months) Marat is strong enough to appear 
and defy Parliament. He commands them to declare him 
innocent of treason. This defiance is carried to the thous- 
ands of armed men waiting the issue outside the House of 
Assembly. A cannon-like roar from the people declare their 
will — and he is pronounced innocent. 

The people place him on a plank, the throne of the peo- 
ple, and bear him through the streets, after crowning him 
with flowers. 

“ It is you, the people,” he cries, “ who crown themselves 
upon my head. I am the King of Poverty. May every 
head, which would rear itself above the level of the people 
soon fall, when I cry ‘ Kill ! ^ ” 

A few days, and, in his arrogance, he says to his brother 
Conventionists, “ I hold jmu as a little water in the palm 
of this hand ; and as readily as I spill it, so I can spill the 
blood of all of you ! ” 

By this time, Philip Equality, for what he had been — a 
Duke — had become hated of the people. Strangely enough, 
he who had been so cowardly as a youth, now, when his 
life was threatened, became brave. When he was arrested, 
he was perfectly calm ; when separated from the elder of 
his two sons, he was perfectly resigned. He had turned 
from his family to serve the people, and he now wore their 
chains. 

The people now demanded the deaths of all the leaders 
of the more moderate Conventionists. 

Death to the twenty-two ! ” 

The people had slain a King — therefore they began to 
demand the lives of those who sought, as Bepublicans, to 
govern the stricken land. 


CHAPTER LVII. 

WHOLESALE MASSACRE. 

The twenty-two deputies were already condemned by 
the will of the ensanguined mob. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


337 


On the eve of the last day in May (1793), of those 
twenty-two, only one, the leader, Vergniaud, slept in his 
own home. The others feared an assassination, and sought 
the aid of friends. 

A vote being carried against the moderates, the victors 
proposed to walk with the people through the city, which 
was illuminated. The Girondists, as a measure of pre- 
caution, joined in the procession. 

While the procession was progressing, that now or- 
ganized band, the Ke volution ary Committee, sent to 
arrest Madame Boland’s husband. 

That evening, Boland, who does not show well in this 
business, fled into hiding. Madame Boland then deter- 
mined to go down to the Convention and upbraid it. So 
far, the French had not begun to behead women. Starting 
from her home, she was surprised to find the city had been 
suddenly illuminated. Making her way to the Convention, 
she found it closed. And she learnt that the moderate 
party were overthrown, and that they would soon be head- 
less. 

She returned home, to await her fate. She did not seek 
to fly. Boland, poor man, remained in concealment — only, 
after a time, to be ashamed of his cowardice, and to commit 
suicide. 

She prepared to send away her daughter to trusted 
friends, made up a packet of clothing to take with her to 
prison, and waited. At midnight, they came beating at 
her door, and she had to be awakened ; for no fear of death 
deprived her of that balm of life — sleep. 

How much you are beloved ! ” said the leader of the 
sectionaries, seeing the eagerness with which the young 
daughter kissed her mother. 

Because I love,” she replied, proudly. 

Beaching the carriage waiting for her, she was asked if 
she would have the window closed. 

No,” she replied ; “ I have done no harm, and I can 
face my enemies.” 

You are braver than many men waiting the decree of 
justice.” 

If in France there were justice, I should not be seated 
with you. I shall go to the scaffold as fearlessly as I go to 
prison. I despise life.”- 
21 


338 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


Marat now became supreme. Rise, sorereign people ! ” 
he cried ; “ no man dare oppose you.” 

There was never given a more fearful impetus to murder 
than these words. 

What it pleased men to call a Committee of Public 
Safety was now organized, and its operation was the killing 
of every human being v.dio could by any means be made to 
appear not utterly to sympathise with the seething mob. 

The Convention existed, but its power was completely at 
an end. Its votes were laughed at. Queen Guillotine was 
the one power left in France. 

Every day the foreign arms directed against France 
obtained successes. Meanwhile, the land was like a vessel 
without a rudder. No man was strong enough to control 
the mob. Indeed, it was only when Napoleon Bonaparte 
rose, that internal peace was established. It is not to be 
wondered at that he came to be looked up to as a demi-god. 

Twenty thousand Royalist volunteers were now in arms 
against Marat, in one department of France alone. 

Marat was at this time King of Paris. Robespierre 
was waiting. Danton was threatening and trembling at 
the same time. Another week, and the foul Marat would 
have conquered both, and been proclaimed, by the voice of 
the streets. President of the Republic. 

But his hideous career was to be arrested by the feeble 
band of a girl — Charlotte Cord ay. 

Just before the commencement of the Reign of Terror 
in France, there might have been seen in a quiet corner of 
a quiet old street in Caen (that city in Normandy so much 
mixed up with the early history of English), a quiet old 
house, called the Grand Manor — a house around a court- 
yard, in the centre of which was a mossy fountain. Near 
this fountain, through the sunny hours, might frequently 
be seen a very beautiful girl, the niece of an aged woman, 
who was the maiden’s aunt. This was Charlotte Corday. 
Fair of skin, and grey of eye, her hair was what had not 
inaptly been termed gilded-black. In other words, it was 
black hair, golden-tipped, with golden lines veining it. 
She was always dressed plainly, in brown cloth, and her 
voice was sweet and lingering. No man has ever breathed 
a word against her character. 

By a peculiar course of study — which it is needless to 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


339 


analyze — she had brought herself to that condition of mind 
when the sufferer experiences the belief that a self-sacrifice 
of some nature must' be made, in order to appease an inex- 
plicable, unknown longing to do some good — a something 
which is supp6sed to be good — in the world. 

She was essentially a Republican ; but gradually, slowl^^, 
the conviction enchained her, that Marat was its monster, 
and that he must die. Her resolve appears to have been 
hastened by the departure of her lover, who joined the 
Caen volunteers. This gentleman, one Franquelin, was, it 
is said, accused by Marat as a conspirator against the re- 
public, and assassinated by villains hired for that purpose. 
He did not die on the spot, as it was at first reported, but 
returned home after Charlotte Corda 3 ^’s execution. His last 
words were an entreat}^ to his mother to bury with him 
Charlotte’s portrait, and all the letters she had ever written 
to him. 

Supplemental to the latter motive, Charlotte Corday 
believed Marat was ruining all France. Here she believed 
truly. 

She obtained a letter to one of the Conventionists. FTo 
one had the slightest idea of her intentions. She retained 
a sweet, soft gaiety, which was quite natural to her, and 
which accompanied this lady to the scaffold. An anecdote 
is very characteristic of her life. Just before she started 
for Paris, passing a cafe, outside of which some men were 
card-playing, she said, “ Cards ! Do you know your 
countrj'^ is dying ? ” 

Taking a sheet of drawing-paper one morning, she said. 
Aunt, I am going to sketch the hay-makers — kiss me.” 

Going out, she met a child, of whom she was very fond. 

“ Here, Robert,” she said, giving him the drawing-paper; 
kiss me, and be a good boy. You will never see me again.” 

She chattered in the coach most of the way to Paris. 
One jmung man fell in love witli her, and asked to apply to 
her friends. She mirthfully repulsed him, and told him to 
wait, at least for some da^’S. 

It was now July. On the eleventh of that month, Char- 
lotte Corday reached Paris. At five in the afternoon she 
retired to rest in a public-house, and slept until next day, 
when she presented her letter at the house of the conven- 
tioiiist, Duperret. When she saw him, she vaguely en- 


340 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


treated him to flee from Paris. « After to-morrow evening,” 
she said, “ it will be too late.” 

Duperret spoke of her as a beautiful girl, slightly de- 
ranged. 

Her great desire was to remain unknown by name in 
connection with the death of Marat. With this view, she 
determined to kill him before the people, so that she might 
at once be torn to pieces, and her mutilated face be beyond 
recognition. But she learnt that Marat was so ill that he 
could not appear in public again. He still issued, daily, 
stronger and more defiant demands for men’s lives. It was 
said he remained at home from fear of assassination. Char- 
lotte Corday resolved to seek him in his home. 

She wrote this letter : — 

“ I have just arrived from Caen. Your patriotism allows 
me to he presumptive enough to hope that you will hear 
privately what I have to say concerning events in that city. 
I shall present myself at your door about one o’clock. I 
pray you for the good of all France — receive me ! ” 

She went to his house, and was refused admittance. She 
wrote another letter : — 

“ I cannot believe that it was you yourself refused me ad- 
mission : you are too good a patriot. I repeat, I have im- 
portant news to tell you ; that I have just arrived from the 
north, and I have secrets to disclose. I am persecuted. 
Will you, then, not aid me ? ” 

At seven the next morning she dressed herself very care- 
fully. She wore a white dress, with a silk scarf crossed over 
the breast and knotted behind — a white Normandy cap, 
hound with a green ribbon — her hair falling over her should- 
ers. Her face was bright, fresh-colored, her countenance 
smiling. 

Thus she presented herself at the house occupied by 
Marat, who happened to he in his hath, which he used, not 
for its cleanly offices, but because it reduced the bodily 
inflammation which had now become habitual to him. 

The house, which bore all the aspects of that poverty in 
which Marat was really plunged, was jealously guarded. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


841 


But what men could suspect a beautiful girl, clothed in 
brilliant white, her face flushing with youth and beauty ? 

Charlotte Corday stepped from her coach, and approached 
the house. She reached the outer door of the apartments 
in which Marat lived, and there her entrance was jealously 
opposed by Albertine, Marat’s mistress, and a female friend. 

Marat, hearing the altercation, and associating the plead- 
ing voice with the letters he had received, imperatively 
ordered the applicant to be admitted. 

Now mark what occurred. The woman Albertine, ofiend- 
ed, walked away, her friend followed her, and Charlotte 
Corday was alone with Marat. 

The room was dark, close, and smelt abominably. He 
was wrapped in a dirty sheet, and sitting in a bath, across 
which was a rough piece of wood which he made his desk, 
for he passed hours in the water. He was writing when 
Charlotte Corday entered. He had flnished this sentence : 
— “ I demand that every man in France who has the blood 
of the Bourbons in his veins, however little, shall be put 
upon his trial, and his wife and children also.’’ 

She approached this human monster, her eyes downcast. 
He spoke to her imperiously — What is the state of Nor- 
mandy ? ” 

“ Certain deputies have taken refuge in Caen.” 

Their names ? ” 

She gave Certain names, and he wrote them down. 

“ Good ! ’ he said ; before another week is past, they 
shall be guillotined.” 

At this moment she raised the dagger she took from the 
breast of her dress, and plunged it down into his bosom. 

“ Help, my dear, help ! ” he cried, and fell back dead. 

Albertine, the woman, and a man named Basse rushed 
forward in time to see his last-drawn breath. By this time 
the water was like that crimson stream Marat was forever 
demanding. He was bathed in it himself now. 

She did not attempt to escape. She drew out the dagger, 
let it fall, and took two or three steps to tlie window. The 
man Basse caught up a chair and beat her down, whereupon 
the woman, Albertine, trampled upon her. 

The news spread in an incalculably short space of time, 
and the seething people called up into the air, “ Throw her 
out to us ; we are waiting.” 


342 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


Soldiers rushed in, forming a hedge of steel about Char- 
lotte Corday, and beat back the blaspheming crowd. 

Charlotte showed no fear, crossed her hands ready for the 
rords, and her first words were “ Poor woman ! in refer- 
ence to Albertine, who was rending the air with her cries. 

She said afterwards she had not asked herself the ques- 
tion, “ Could this man be loved ? ” 

Poor people ! she said to those who endeavored to tear 
her to pieces ; you desire my death, whilst you owe me an 
altar for having freed you from a monster ! Oh, throw me 
to the peop^p,” she said to the soldiers; ^^as they regret 
him, they are fit to be my executioners ! ” 

She was not cast among the people — at least, she died in 
peace. She boasted of her act, and declared herself a mar- 
tyr. 

Paris turned pale at the news. The panic reaching the 
Convention, business was arrested. One Henriot, the 
Commandant-General of the National Guard, entered. 

Tremble ! ’’ he cried. ‘‘ Marat has been assassinated by 
a girl, who boasts of her deed ! Tremble ! Such a fate 
threatens all ! Mistrust green ribbons, and let us swear to 
avenge the death of this great man.” 

Charlotte Corday, accused of murder, stood beautiful and 
smiling in the midst of accusers, all of whom wore fierce 
looks of hate and rage. 

She was fearless until she reached the street, when the 
blaze of shouts so terrified this young country girl, that she 
fainted. Restored to consciousness, (they had bound her 
weak hands), she cried, “Alas ! do 1 still live?” 

Then quite consistently, she thanked her guardians for 
saving her from the crowd. 

She never for one moment looked upon her act as a crime. 
When interrogated at her trial, she adhered to this state- 
ment : — “ I saw civil war enveloping France. I considered 
Marat its chief cause, and to save my country I sacrificed 
myself, and slew him.” 

That her virtue was attacked at her trial, is a condition 
of things which clearly proves how deeply dyed in preju- 
div:e by this time had become the revolutionary tribunals. 

One Chabot under pretence of suspecting a concealed 
j):il)er, tore off her breast kerchief. She leaped back at the 
Outrage, the string of her dress broke, and her fair chest 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


343 


“was exposed to the gaze of a number of savage men. Her 
hands were corded, so that she could not save lierself from 
degradation ; and her virtue gave of itself her best proof, 
for she crouched down to hide her disarranged dress. En- 
treating them to untie her hands, they complied ; and turn- 
ing her back to the wall, she rapidly completed her toilette. 
Where the cords had been, the flesh was marked with great 
blue bands; and very meekly she asked to be allowed to 
put on her long gloves before the knots were again tied. 
Upon her dress, after her death, was found pinned a long 
address to France, in which she entreated all men to destroy 
the Jacobins, and save France. 

She was condemned to die the following morning. An 
artist, during her trial, having been remarked by her draw- 
ing her face, she requested he might complete it, and the 
painter was introduced to her cell. One man endeavored 
to save her by maintaining she was insane. In this shape 
of pity, he nearly lost his own head. 

She wrote of Marat finally : — “ Pardon me, oh men ! • 
The name of Marat dishonors jmur race. He was a beast 
of prey seeking to devour France by war and hate. I 
thank Heaven that bj'- birth he was no Frenchman.’’ 

She was pained by the accusation made by Chabot, the 
wretch who had torn away her neckerchief, who declared 
she had been his mistress, far more than by the thought of 
approaching death. Chabot,” she wrote, “ is a mere mad- 
man. I never even dreamed of this man. He need not be 
feared — he has not intellect enough to be dangerous.” 

In the same paper she said, ‘^All Parisians are such 
good citizens, they cannot comprehend how a useless 
woman, whose longest term of life would be good for noth- 
ing, can calmly sacrifice herself for her country. To- 
morrow, at twelve, I shall have lived ! ” 

Again she said, “ ’Tis crime gives the shame — it is not 
the block.” This is the verse of the great French poet 
Corneille, who was her ancestor. 

Tried at eight in the morning, and knowing she should 
die at mid-day, she said, upon leaving the prison, “ Madame 
Kichard, pray let my breakfast be ready upon my return, 
or we shall not have time to take it together.” 

At her trial, it being maintained that the nature of the 
blow which killed Marat had been that of one accomplished 


844 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


in the use of the dagger, she cried, “ Miserable wretch — 
he takes me for an assassin ! 

The counsel for her defence urged that she only pleaded 
that in killing Marat she was doing a public good. 

The jury directly found her guilty, and ordered her prop- 
erty to be confiscated. 

“ Sir,” she said to her defender, you have done well. 
But I cannot pay you, for you have heard how my property 
has been seized. However, ! do you this honor; I pray 
that you will pay the few pieces of silver I owe to the 
prison people — they ought to be paid.” 

Going back to her prison, where the painter finished her 
portrait, sh^ conversed about painting. 

A knock at the cell-door, and the executioner entered, 
carrying scissors with which to cut away her hair, and the 
red garments worn by the condemned on their way to exe- 
cution. 

“ Sir,” she said to the painter, I can only offer you a 
lock of hair.” 

And taking the gaoler’s scissors, she cut a lock of the 
wonderful hair. 

A priest coming, she said, I thank those who have 
been kind enough to send you, but I do not require your 
services. Tlie blood I have spilt, and my own, which I am 
about to shed, are the only sacrifices I can offer the Eter- 
nal.” 

The executioner now cut off her hair, and flung over, her 
head the red garment. 

“ This,” she said, “ is the toilette of death, arranged by 
somewhat rude hands, but it leads to immortality.” 

As she stepped upon the cart, such as carried all those 
condemned to death to the place of execution, a violent 
storm burst over Paris. Women danced about the death- 
cart, uttering imprecations ; hers was the only calm face to 
be seen. Strangely enough, the rain wetting the red flan- 
nel — her only covering to the waist — it clung to her skin, 
and betrayed her to be exquisitely formed, especially as her 
hands were so tied behind her that she was forced to hold 
herself upright. 

As she neared the scaffold, the sun appeared, and the 
gold threads in her hair shone out magnificently. 

The leaders of the rebellion, Danton, Bobespierre, 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


845 


Camille Desmoulins, standing at a window, saw her pass. 
She had preserved them from Marat, but, at the same time, 
she had shown how a tyrant could be slain. She saved 
their lives by her act ; but she taught, also, how they 
might be taken. 

One Adam Lux, a German, was hopelessly stricken by 
love as she passed along. He followed to the scaffold’s feet, 
asking to die with her. 

Reaching the scaffold, she turned pale, and, for one 
moment, shrank ; but the next, recovering herself, ascended 
the steps as rapidly as her long red dress and pinoned arms 
would allow. 

When the executioner pulled down her dress, that her 
neck might be bare, she was for the last time outraged 
while living. She placed herself upon the plank, and, the 
next moment, her head fell. 

Legros, a miserable scaffold-dog, took up the head by the 
remaining hair, and struck at the cheeks. It is said the 
skin grew scarlet, as though the modesty of Charlotte Cor- 
da}' outlasted her life. 

Did her face change color ? Some hold that the head 
has consciousness and power after being severed from the 
body, and that it can see and hear. Nay, it was urged dur- 
ing the Revolution that the passion of the heads remained, 
because the interior of the wicker baskets in which the 
heads were carried away were often found to be gnawed, as 
though the teeth of the heads gnashed after separation 
from the body. For my part, I believe that this gnawing 
was effected by rats, which at that time, even more than 
now, overran Paris. 

Such was the death of Marat — of his murderer, whom we 
cannot praise. But who can blame her ? Assuredly her 
death was necessary to purge her of assassination, to some 
extent. 

Adam Lux, wild with love, published a defence of 
Charlotte Corday. He was seized, and, three days after- 
vrards, died by the very knife which destroyed her life. 

Chenier, the patriotic poet, sang her heroism. He was 
soon arrested, and therefore beheaded. 

But what good had Charlotte Cordaj^ done ? 

She had strengthened the love of the people for desperate 
measures j she had made a martyr of their most foul lead- 


346 


LOVE ANP LIBERTY. 


er. She gave a dignity to those who advocated the scaf- 
fold. The liberal twenty-two knew- that this last act anni- 
hilated them. 


CHAPTEE LVIIL 

MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

The Convention ordained the worship of Marat, and 
cast his corse to the people as an idol. 

He was called Caesar, and his funeral was modelled upon 
the historical narrative of that given by Eome to the great 
Julius. 

The body was carried bj^ torchlight to the garden of the 
house in which he made his most inflammatory speeches ; 
and there he was buried under trees heavily laden with 
countless brilliantly-illuminated paper lamps. 

His head was placed in an urn, and hung in the centre 
of the Convention. His memor}^ was decreed an altar, and 
at its-foot his admirers appropriately called for blood. 

The enemy was now approaching on all sides, and thous-? 
ands more Eoj^alists were in array. 

Meanwhile Danton was sinking in estimation, Eobes- 
pierre rising, for Eobespierre was a patient man. 

Danton, dazzled with his new wife, wished to live the life 
of a small country gentleman. It was too late. 

Eobespierre was breaking in health, but his temperance 
would stand him in good stead of health for a long while. 
His motto was “Wait.” 

The Committee of Public Safety was meanwhile reaping 
a rich harvest of death. 

Money was no longer to be seen. 

Bread was rare. 

People were dying of starvation (especially the old) in 
every street. 

The more cruel of the Conventionists carried by acclama- 
tion these decrees — the true legal inauguration of the 
Eeign of Terror: 

“ Six thousand soldiers and twelve hundred artillerymen 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 347 

to do blindly the bidding of the Committee of Public 
Safety. 

“ All men who have been in the Government occupation 
during the late King’s life, to quit Paris. 

“ The delivery of the Kevolutionary Tribunal of the 
Moderate Conventionists. 

The right to search any house at any hour of the night. 

The transportation beyond the seas of every common 
woman in the land. 

Finally, the payment of workmen who should leave 
their shops to follow up the public service.” 

By these measures the mob were not only encouraged to 
take life, but paid to do it. Nothing could save such a sys- 
tem resulting, if long continued, in national death ! 

By the wa,y, Sunday was chosen as the best day for 
working these mob committees. 

This was followed by Merlin’s decree, which provided for 
the arrest (without proof) of any suspected person, and of 
all those who, not working, were enabled to live in a better 
condition than one of penury. This was an attack upon all 
people who had hidden money. In fact, starvation had by 
this time become the only mode of avoiding the guillotine. 

Prisons were not large enough to contain prisoners, and 
all the confiscated churches were converted into gaols. 
Death was decreed for almost every act of life — certainly for 
every act of pity. 

A hundred men, less two, were beheaded in sixty days in 
Paris alone. 

The Queen was too noble a victim to escape. 

The Convention suddenly ordered her trial, and command- 
ed her separation from the two children. 

Now all the lethargy which has possessed her since the 
King’s death departs, and she becomes as a lioness fighting 
for her young. 

By this time, all the beauty of Marie Antoinette had 
vanished, and there remained a very broken old woman, 
aged about a little more than thirty, with very scanty 
white hair, falling in patches from an almost bald head. 
The body, as the soul, had shrunken — a skeleton remained, 
covered with mere skin. 

This was the Queen, who leapt into life when her dulled 
hearing comprehended that she was to be separated from her 


848 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


children. They had hut the mercy only to remove tho 
son. 

The hoy clung to his mother, who lost all dignity, dug 
her nails into the child’s flesh, and called upon the men to 
kill them both. 

For two hours this lasted, and then she became a woman 
again — a mother ; and dressing him to look as smart as 
possible, she gave him up with her own hands to his gaoler, 
Simon, who took him at once to the room where the child 
was destined to die. For two days and nights the child 
lay upon the floor, taking neither food nor drink. 

The Queen never took her son in her arms. He was to 
outlive her but a little time, and then die of sheer ill-usage 
and neglect. 

The Queen, however, still had her husband’s sister and 
her daughter with her. The only consolation they had, 
was ascending to the platform of their tower, to catch a 
glimpse of the boy on the platform of the other tower. 

Simon’s work it was to deprave the body and soul of the 
wretched child. He forced him to drink strong wine, and 
made him answer to the name of “Wolf.” He beat him if 
he wept, encouraged him to every possible disgusting act, 
and compelled him to sing obscene songs, while he (his 
master) smoked and drank. 

Once, he nearly destroj^^ed one of the poor Prince’s eyes ; 
at another, he raised a poker against him. Sometimes he 
was kind ; and, upon one occasion, he said, “ Capet, if the 
soldiers come and deliver you, what will you do ? ” 

“ Forgive you,” said the child. 

The man Simon actually wept, but he cried immediately 
afterwards, “ There’s some of the blood of the lion in the 
whelp.” 

In the middle of the night of the 2nd of August, the 
Queen was awakened, and told she was to be removed alone, 
to another prison. 

In vain the women threw themselves at the feet of the 
men. They had but their duty to do. 

The Queen was compelled to dress before them, while 
they ransacked the room, and seized everj?- little object the 
Queen still retained. The miserable creatures left her a 
handkerchief. 

And now, exactly as Louis XVI had told his children to 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


349 


forgive their enemies, so now desolate Marie Antoinette 
,told her daughter, in her last words to the poor child, to 
forgive those who parted them. 

“ 1 give my children to you, sister. Be a second mother 
to them.” 

For precisely as Louis appears to have had no conception 
of the monstrosity of putting a woman to death, so the 
Queen, in leaving the Temple, appears not to have supposed 
for one moment that the Princess Elizabeth would be 
claimed by the scaffold, — she who had led the li^e of a true 
woman, who had nursed and helped the people, and never 
joined in the frivolities of the Court. 

The Queen was taken to the prison of the Conciergerie, 
which is composed of the dungeons below high water mark, 
to be found amongst the foundations of the Palace of 
Justice. 

To a wretched cell, having in one corner a straw bed, and 
by the light of one candle, was the ex-Queen taken. 

A woman desirous of death in the dungeon of a strong- 
hold, and yet they only believed her safe when two soldiers, 
swords drawn, stood at the outer door watching, with orders 
not to lose sight of the Widow Capet, even when asleep. 

Madam Bichard, that good woman who tended Charlotte 
Corday in her last moments, was the Queen’s most humane 
gaoler. She found something like furniture for' the cell, 
procured wholesome food for the captive, and often brought 
a low-whispered message from the royal prisoners still in 
the Temple. 

A little while, and the dampness of the cell rotted the 
Queen’s only dresses — two very common ones ; and her 
under-clothing becoming in tatters, she was half naked. 


CHAPTEB LIX. 

MARIE ANTOINETTE FINDS PEACE AT LAST. 

Marie Antoinette in her last prison, however, was 
not without pitying friends. The fierce communists ordered 
that she should drink the water of the Seine, drawn as it 


350 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


flowed past her prison-walls ; but an honest couple, named 
Bault, obtained the posts of chief gaolers at the Concierge- 
rie, in the full aim of assuaging the Queen’s wretchedness. 
Instead of Seine water, the poor prisoner found daily in 
her cell refreshing draughts of water drawn from that well 
at Versailles which was the Queen’s chief cellar. She was 
a great water drinker. 

Madame Bault, to aifect harshness, never entered the 
Princess’s cell, asserting that to do so was to he contamin- 
ated. The royal tradespeople of former days — especially 
the fruit-women — brought little offerings secretly ; and so 
it came about that the Queen, in her last prison and days, 
ate such pure, simple meals as those which had been her 
favorite food in the old days — a piece of melon, a handful 
of figs, a little bread and a glass of water from her favorite 
well. 

The two gowns which the Queen possessed — one white, 
the other black, — and which she wore alternately, soon fell 
to pieces in the damp prison. Her underclothing was 
always damp when put on, and often her shoes would be 
completely wet ; for between her and the river there was 
only the part protection of a wall. 

Human nature demands some work. Hot allowed writing 
or sewing materials (Bault’s daughter mended the Queen’s 
tatters, and gave away the little fragments which she cut 
away in the process as relics of the poor lady), with a pin 
she scratched her thoughts upon the driest portion of the 
walls of her prison. After her death many of these sen- 
tences were copied by one of the commissioners. They 
were mostly German and Italian verses bearing reference 
to her fate, and little Latin verses from the Psalms. Ho 
Prench did she use, for she had been brought into the land 
where that language was spoken to be cast into prison, and 
to suffer death. The drier walls were covered with these 
mute appeals. 

Some idea may be gained of the cruelty exercised 
towards the desolate prisoner, when she, asking for a lighter 
coverlet, and Bault forwarding the request to a high author- 
ity, the latter received this reply : — 

“ Take care ! Another sign of sympathy such as that, 
and you will visit the guillotine before she does ! ” 

Another shape of industry did the poor Queen find. She 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


851 


wished to leave her daughter a memento of her last days, 
and she had nothing to give ; so she converted a couple of 
hone toothpicks into knitting needles, pulled some worsted 
shreds from the heavy old coverlet which thej'- refused to 
replace with a lighter, and knitted a — garter. This she, 
dropped near the friendly Bault, who, with the heart of a 
father, understanding the poor little bit of workmanship, 
let fall his handkerchief, and so possessed himself of the 
little treasure. After her death the tribute reached the 
young Princess for whom it was worked — truly a message 
from the grave. 

A few days before her trial, an order, possessed by some- 
thing of mercy, arrived, by force of which she was relieved 
from the continuous stare of the guard set to watch her. 
By this relief, she was enabled to kneel, from which act she 
had been warned throughout her confinement. 

On October 13th, Fouquier-Tinville notified to Marie 
Antoinette the fact of her having been indicted for high 
treason. 

3he listened to the reading of the indictment as though 
to a death-warrant — the shape, in fact, it really took. 

As a matter of form, she chose two counsel for her de- 
fence — men who had secretly sought the appointment, and 
who, afterwards, of course, paid for their pity with their 
lives. 

On the 14th, at noon, she made as elegant a toilette as 
she could — hid the rags and the patchiness of her white 
hair as much as possible, and went up the stone stairs of 
her dungeon to the judgment-hall above her prison. The 
passages were full of people, who reviled her as she passed 
along. She bore her head well up, but she could not 
change the fallen mouth, the pinched nose, tarnished eyes, 
and shrunken, weakened body. But the black circles 
round those eyes artificially increased their failing brillian- 
cy, and they fired glances of scorn and fearlessness at her 
gibing enemies. She had never possessed the humble, 
religious feeling and sweet patience which distinguished 
Louis. A perfectly pure woman, at heart, she was some- 
what of a Voltairean ; she despised death, and feared no 
power. We are as we are made ; so, in her final trial, she 
met the scowls of the people, chiefly of women, face to face. 
Some authorities say that one girl uttered a cry of pity as 


352 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


the Queen passed — she was strangled. These unsexed 
wretches had undertaken to accompany the Queen to the 
scaffold with every possible indignity. 

And she stands before her — judges. 

What is your name ? ” 

I am called Marie Antoinette, of Lorraine, in Austria^” 
she replies, in a low, musical voice. 

Your condition ? ” 

Widow of Louis, formerly King of the French.’^ 

Your age ? ’’ 

Thirty-seven.” 

Louquier-Tinville now read the indictment. It was the 
summing up of all her declared crimes of high birth, condi- 
tion, and rank. She was quite guilt}’’ of all these things. 
The chief accusations were merely echoes of all that had 
been whispered of her in the foulest places. She was 
accused of prodigality, licentiousness, and treason to 
France. 

She showed no sign of emotion, beyond an unheeded 
movement of the fingers over the bar of a chair, as though 
they were recalling some half-forgotten music. 

She answered all questions quite patiently, showed sorrow 
only when reference was made to the Princess de Lamballe, 
and only lost her quietude when one H4bert was called. 
It is to be hoped this man was mad. At all events, he 
spoke to the Queen’s acts while in the Temple ; declared 
that she was depraved and debauched, and that she had 
even corrupted her own son, that she might poison his 
body and his soul, and so reign in his name over the ruin 
of his understanding. 

This man was mad — there can he no doubt upon the 
point : he even included saintly Madame Elizabeth in this 
frantic idiotic accusation. 

Heaven be thanked, those present turned upon him, and 
cried “ Shame ! ” The Queen herself shrank, raising her 
hand as though to guard her from the wretch. 

But one juryman was nearly as bad as Hebert. 

“ Why does not the accused answer ? ” this foul wretch 
asked. 

I do not answer,” she said — and once again, it is said, 
she looked radiantly beautiful in her momentary indigna- 
tion — “ because these are accusations to which nature refuses 
a reply.” 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 353 

She turned to the women, with whom the court was 
crowded. 

I appeal from him to all mothers present.” 

To the honor of these women be it said, they cried He- • 
bert down — and so he passes out of this history. 

The Queen met questions having reference to the King 
with equal calmness. It being alleged that she endeavored 
to obtain ascendancy over him through his mental weak- 
ness, she replied, I never knew that character of him. I 
was but his wife, and it was my duty and my pleasure to 
yield to his will.” 

not one word, tending to save herself, did she injure 
the memory of her husband. 

One line in the trial is enough to show what a mockery 
it was. 

The Public Prosecutor cried, “All France hears witness 
against this woman I ” 

For form’s sake, the jury deliberated an hour. She was 
recalled to liear her sentence, but the cheering and scream- 
ing of the people told her its terrors before the judge spoke 
— death ! 

Nine months since the King died, and now there was an 
end to her weary waiting. 

Asked if she had an3^thing to say why the sentence of 
death sliould not be carried out, she respected herself in 
her very silence, and turned away, as though quite prepar- 
ed for execution. 

It was now five in the morning, and her last day was 
come. At half-past five she was permitted to write a letter 
to the King’s sister, Madame Elizabeth. This lady never 
saw it. The document was found long afterwards amongst 
the papers of one Couthon. 

“ I write to you, my sister,” she begins, “ for the last 
time. I have been condemned, not to an ignominious 
death — that only awaits criminals — but to go and rejoin 
your brother. Innocent as he, I hope to show such firm- 
ness as the King’s in his last moments. I grieve bitterly 
at leaving my poor children. You know that I lived but 
for them and you — you who, in your love, have sacrificed 
all for us. I learnt, at my trial, that yon are separated 
from my little girl. In what a position I leave you ! I 
22 


854 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


dare not write to her ; they would not give her my letter, 
and, indeed, I do not know that you will receive this.” 

Some words of this final letter are inexpressibly touching. 

Let my son never forget his father’s last words. Let him 
never seek to avenge our deaths ! ” 

She then goes on to apologize for the child’s possible con- 
duct to her, after the influence over him necessarily obtained 
by Simon, his tutor, and meekly she urges that he is so 
young he is incapable of knowing what he does. 

“ Think of me always,” she says, in conclusion. Good 
heaven, and my children ! How heart-rending it is to 
leave them for ever — for ever ! ” 

This letter being finished, she kissed each page lovingly, 
and folded it. 

So far, the Republic had not entirely declared against 
high heaven, and priests were still recognised by those who 
had subscribed to the articles of the Revolution, and one of 
these men was offered to Marie Antoinette to aid her in her 
last moments. She refused to see him. The Convention 
(still sitting) insisted upon one of these officials accompany- 
ing her to the scaffold. There was no devotion amongst 
them. All hesitated, for all feared that the Queen would 
be torn to pieces on her way to the scaffold. 

One proffered his help. 

Thank you,” said the Queen ; “ I have no need of 
your services, though I am a great sinner. But I am about 
to receive a great sacrament.” 

“ Martj’^rdom,” said the priest, in a low voice j and he 
bowed and retired. 

She prayed alone. 

However, she had been secretly informed that at a cer- 
tain house on her way to execution a minister would be 
stationed, who would give her absolution as she passed in 
the cart. 

She dressed herself in the white gown, put a white cap 
on, bound with a black ribbon — and so came •before the peo- 
ple. 

Then she drew back — her queendom still remained. She 
had not thought the people so fallen that she should be 
taken to the scaffold in the common cart. The King had 
been taken to death at least in such a vehicle as he had 
been accustomed to. 


LOVE AND libp:rty. 855 

Alas ! When Louis died all pitj^ had expired ; with her 
death, all France was to gasp with thirst for blood. 

She mounted the cart — her hands having been bound be- 
hind her, and in the midst of a raging crowd. The cart 
swayed, and she could scarcely keep her seat on the plank. 

She grew red and pale by turns, as she was dragged 
through the mob. The patience and pity exhibited by the 
King she could not imitate. Her lips were bitter each 
moment; but she never took her dry, hot eyes from the 
raging people. 

Suddenly, her head falls humbly, and, her hands being 
tied, she makes the sign of the cross by three motions of 
the head. 

Her pride had passed with that unseen blessing from 
the house on her way to execution. When the Palace of 
the Tuileries came in view — the place where she had spent 
nearly half her life — tears fell down her face. 

A few turns of the wheels, and she was at the foot of the 
scalfold. 

Beaching the place, accidentally she trod upon one of the 
executioners’ feet. 

“ Pardon me,” she said, in a sweet, courtly voice. 

She knelt for an instant, rose, stretched her neck towards 
the distant towers of the Temple, and cried, Good-bye, 
my children ! I am going to your father.” 

She did not, like her husband, speed to Heaven. It was 
rather that she fled from earth. 

The executioner was trembling more than his victim, so 
that she suffered a long agony of a few moments after she 
was upon the plank. 

The assistant executioner took his brother’s place. 

The head fell. It was taken up and carried around the 
scaflbld. 

Long live the Republic! ” saluted this brave display. 

The Bevolution thought itself avenged — it was befouled. 

She came a foreigner — and they killed her. 

Thus she died. Frivolous in prosperity, she died with 
intrepidity. Her misfortune was her mistrust of the peo- 
ple in her early daj^s — her catastrophe, that all the sin and 
wickedness of the Court was laid to her account. 

Called upon to fill a throne, those who called her gave her 
not even a tomb — for you may read in a parish register, 
For the coffin of the Widow Capet ^ six shillings / ” 


356 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


With her life, France threw away all Christian mercy, 
Criipason swept over the breadth and length of the land. 


CHAPTER LX. 

THE TWENTY-TWO. 

The twenty-two had literally been under the control of 
the police, though not arrested, since May 31st. But as 
events progressed, their destruction became almost necessary 
to the safety of those members of the Convention, who, 
obtaining power wholly through the will of the more 
violent, could only retain it by a perfect recognition of the 
will of those who had given them the victory. 

The twenty-two were therefore seized, and placed in a 
building coverted from a convent into a prison, and here 
they made full preparations to die. 

To this day, the walls of this place may be seen covered 
with mementoes of the prison-days of the victims of the 
Revolution. They are chiefly short verses, written in 
blood, the purple hues of which many of the inscriptions 
still retain. 

A few days after the Queen’s day of peace arrived, their 
trial commenced. 

Of what were they accused ? 

Really, nothing ; but they were in the waj’’, and a threat- 
ening division of the masses insisted upon their death. 

After four days’ mockery of justice, the twenty-two were 
declared guilty of having conspired against the unity and 
indivisibility of the republic, and the whole were condemn- 
ed to die. 

A cry of horror burst from the condemned, for many of 
them could not believe that innocent men could be sent to 
the scaffold. 

Valase, one of the youngest, slipped from his seat to the 
floor. 

^^What, Valase! art losing courage now?” cried his 
friend Brissot, upholding him. 

^^Noj lam dying!” returned Valase j and his fingers 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 857 

quivered about the handle of the poniard with which he 
had taken his own life. 

Silent horror for a moment prevailed ; the Girondists 
blushed and bowed their heads before their dead compan- 
ion, who had given them an example of fearlessness in 
meeting death. 

Only one, named Boileau, showed cowardice. He cast 
his hat into the air and screamed, “ I don’t belong to these 
men ! I am a J acobin ! ” 

But instead of pity he only gained contempt. 

And now a cry was heard ; it came from Camille Des- 
moulins : “ Let me fly,” he cried ; “ it is my book which 
has killed them ! ” 

But the crowd seized Desmoulins, and forced him to re- 
main. 

The twenty-two came down from the high seats upon 
which they had heard their trial and sentence, and for a 
moment stood round the dead body of their friend, who had 
shown them how to die. Almost simultaneously they 
raised their hands and cried, Innocent ! Long live the 
republic ! ” 

Then they cast all the money they had with them 
amongst the crowding, storming people, who greedily seized 
it. This was done, not to excite the mob to revolt, but 
with the thought that, their death at hand, they had no 
farther need of wealth. 

There was something strangely classic and Boman-like 
in their death. They left the hall singing loudly the cele- 
brated hymn, the Marseillaise ; ” and in reference to 
their death, they sang with amazing power the celebrated 
two lines, 

“ March on, march on I O children of the land, 

The day, the hour of glory, is at hand ! ” 

This terrible hymn they were still singing as they enter- 
ed their prison. It was now late in the evening, and they 
were to suffer on the following morning. 

The tribunal had decreed that the yet warm corpse of 
Valase should be carried back to prison, conveyed in the 
same cart with his accomplices to the scaffold, and interred 
with their bodies. The only sentence, perhaps, which pun- 
ished the dead. 


358 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


Four men-at-arms carried the body upon a litter, and 
thus the procession reached the prison. 

The twenty-two were to pass the night in the same 
room, the corpse in one corner. The twenty-one — even 
Boileau, who repented of his momentary cowardice — came, 
one by one, and kissed the dead man’s hand, then covered 
his face, saying, To-morrow, brother ! ” 

One Bailleu], a Girondist and a Conventionist, hut who 
had escaped the proscription, yet had not left Paris, had 
promised tliat, after the trial, he would prepare and send to 
the prison, either a triumphant or a funereal supper, accord- 
ing to the sentence. 

The promise was kept. Upon the oaken table, stretch- 
ing the length of their dungeon was set out a supper, royal 
in its magnificence. Every luxury to be obtained, every 
delicate wine with a name, filled those portions of the 
table not covered by a w^ealth of flowers and great clusters 
of brilliantly burning wax candles. 

To one Abbe Lambert, who lived fifty years after that 
night, we owe all we have learnt concerning that' final meal. 
This minister was w^aiting to offer consolation to the con- 
demned as they passed to the scaffold. 

The supper lasted from midnight until the dawn of day 
— at the end of October, about half-past five. It was the 
feast of their marriage with death. No sign was given of 
their approaching end. All ate with sobriety, but wdth 
appetite ; and it was only when the fruit and wine alone 
remained on the table that the conversation became excited 
and powerful. 

Many, especially the younger men, who did not leave 
families behind them, were very gay and witty. They 
had done no great wrong, and were sacrificed to duty, 
therefore they met death with cheerful faces. 

With solemn break of day, the conversation became 
graver. 

Brissot cried, “ now that we, the honest men amongst 
those who govern, are about to die, what will become of the 
republic ? How much blood will it require to wash away 
the memory of ours ? ” 

^‘Friends,” cried Vergniaud, “we have killed the tree 
by over-pruning it. It was aged — Bobespierre cuts it 
down. Will he be more fortunate than ourselves? Noj 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


359 


the land of France is now too weak for honest growth. 
The people play with laws as children with toys ; they are 
too weak to govern themselves ; and they will return to 
their kings as children to their toys, after they are tired of 
having thrown them away. We thought ourselves at 
Kome ; we were in Paris. But, in dying, let us leave to 
the whole of France — the strength of hope. Some day — 
some great day — she will be able to govern herself.’^ 

At ten o’clock the executioners arrived to prepare the 
victims for the scaffold. Gensom^, picking up a lock of the 
black, brilliant hair cut from his head, gave it to Abbe 
Lambert, and begged him to carry it to his wife. “ Tell 
her,” he said, it is all I can send, and that I die thinking 
of her.” 

Vergniaud drew his w’atch from his pocket, scratched his 
initials and the date in it with a pin, and sent it by the 
hands of one of the executioners^ assistants to a young girl 
whom he loved deeply, and whom it is said he intended to 
marry. 

Every one sent a something to some one or more in mem- 
ory of himself, and it is pleasant to be able to state that 
every message and remembrance were faithfully delivered. 

When the last lock of hair bad fallen, the victims were 
marshalled, and they were led out to the carts waiting to 
receive them. 

They sang the Marseillaise ” to the scaffold — they sang 
it when they reached it, the song growing fainter and 
fainter as each head fell ; and the hymn onl}'^ ceased, as the 
last head fell — that of their leader, Vergniaud. 

The dead body of their friend was carried with them. 

Such was the end of the founders of the French repub- 
lic. 

With them the brightness, beauty, youth, wit, frankness 
of the Convention passed away, and their places were filled 
by sullen, threatening men. 


360 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


CHAPTER LXL 

THE RED FLAG. 

The first to fall was the Due of Orleans (father of Louis 
Philippe, King of the French). He had done nothing 
against the interests of the republic, but his birth was a 
crime, and his death was decided on. 

The Prince and his sons were at table when the fatal 
indictment arrived. 

‘‘So much the better,” said he. “This must end one 
way or the other. Kiss me, children. And I wonder of 
what they accuse me ? ” he said, opening the paper. “ The 
scoundrels ! ” he added ; “ they accuse me of nothing. 
Come, boys, eat ; for this summons is indeed good news.” 

He was taken to Paris, where, at this time, no man of 
mark, being put upon his trial, escaped the guillotine. 

The one plausible accusation brought against Orleans 
must have compressed his heart. 

“ Did you not vote the King’s death in the hope of suc- 
ceeding to his throne ? ” 

“ No ; I obeyed my heart and my conscience.” 

He heard his sentence calmlj^, despite the fact of his 
cowardice in his early jmars ; and he replied sarcastically to 
his judges, “ Since you were determined to condemn me, 
you should have found better pretexts than you have ; for, 
as it is, you will deceive no man into believing that you 
think me guilty. I am in the way. And you too,” he 
said, turning to a once Marquis d’Autonelle, an old friend, 
— “you to condemn me ! Finally,” he continued, “ since I 
am to die, I demand not to be left in gaol a whole night, 
but to be at once taken to the block.” 

This desire was not complied with. Returning to the 
gaol, his rage was terrible. 

The Abbe Lambert approached and said, “ Citizen 
Equality, will you accept my assistance, or, at least, the 
offer of my condolence ? ” 

“ Who are you ? ’’ 

“The Vicar-General of the Bishop of Paris. If you 
will not accept my religious help, can I be of any service to 
you after your death ? Have you messages to send ? ” 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


861 


No ; I can die without help, and like a good citizen.” 

He went to the place of execution at three, accompanied 
by three others. 

Reaching the scaffold, he looked at the knife calmly ; 
and the executioner offering to remove his boots, he said, 

You will do it more easily afterwards.” 

He was dressed very beautifully for his death, and he 
died without fear. He had followed the Revolution blindly 
— had thrown away fortune, name, reputation, in its cause, 
and it destroyed him simply because he had belonged to 
royalty. 

Terror was rapidly reddening all the land. 

The guillotine was not quick enough, and squads of 
soldiers shot down the condemned. 

Such sentences as the follcnving, were accepted as 
truths : — 

The time is come when the prophec}^ shall be fulfilled. 
The wealthy shall be despoiled, and the poor shall be 
enriched. 

If the people want bread, let them profit by the sight 
of their misery, to seize on the possessions of the wealthy. 

Do you seek a word which furnishes all 3’’ou need ?— 
die, or cause others to die.” 

The great Terror began at Lyons. 

The great day of vengance has arrived,” cried one 
Cholier. Five hundred men amongst us deserve to share 
the fate of the tyrant. I will give ^mu the list — be it your 
part to strike ! ” 

He then seized a crucifix, dashed it upon the ground, 
and trampled upon it. 

Here is another theory which was applauded : — 

“ Any man can be an executioner — it is the guillotine 
which reallj’’ takes life.” 

This Cholier, who had trampled upon the crucifix, clung 
to it when condemned to the death he was always seeking 
for others. The knife was blunt, and five times it was 
raised before the head fell. “ Quick — quick ! ” the wretch 
cried, when it was raised for the fifth time. 

Some time after, when the Terror was rising to its height, 
Cholier was looked upon as a martj^r ; his bod}’’ was burnt, 
and the ashes placed in an urn, were carried triumphantly 
through the streets, and placed upon an altar of patriotism 
raised to him. 


862 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


The altar in question was soon thrown down. 

But only after the Terror ended. 

With Cholier’s after-death triumph, the moderates ” 
began to fall. Ten of the municipals of Lyons (the place 
of Cholier’s exploits) were beheaded in one day, and a mine 
was exploded which destroyed the finest parts of the city. 

Lyons was almost annihilated. At a cost of half a mill- 
ion of monej^ (English), houses worth twelve millions were 
destro3’’ed. Why? France was mad. So hurriedly was 
this destruction effected, that hundreds of the workmen 
themselves were buried in the ruins. 

Life, however, was cheap. 

Bags only were to be seen — a decent dress was equiva- 
lent to condemnation. The city was dead but for the thun- 
der of fallen houses, the roar of cannon and the rattle of 
musketry mowing down suspected people, and the shrill cry 
of the ragged as they marked another head fall beneath the 
guillotine knife. It was now looked upon as a distinction, 
and reserved only for important people. 

An entire generation was destroyed in Lyons alone. 
Great houses were unowned — for their owners were dead. 
Castles, churches, factories, work-shops, were closed, for 
their heads had all passed under the guillotine. 

Starvation increased, for the land lay a-dying. 

The guillotine was getting old and worn-out at Lyons. 

One morning, sixty-four are marched out to death. They 
are bound, and ranged in a line before an open trench. 
Three pieces of cannon, loaded with bullets, sweep the 
ranks. Not half are touched. “Forward!” is the word 
given to the dragoons, who hack and shoot down the 
victims. This lasts two whole hours. 

Nine hundred and thirty executioners, in the shape of 
an entire regiment, were to send their victims, marshalled 
in a row, into eternity at the same moment. At the order 
“ Fire! ” four bullets struck at the life of the victims, all of 
whom are tied to a rope stretched from tree to tree. 

Strange — when the smoke arose, only half were found 
dead. The rest remained either wounded or untouched. 
The unscathed stared in horror ; the wounded screamed to 
be despatched. 

The soldiers could not fire again. Some of the prisoners 
had freed! themselves, and were escaping. The dragoons 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


S63 


were ordered forward to cut them down. The victims were 
killed piece-meal. One man, a ma3"or of his town, reached 
the river, but there his bleeding hand betraj^ed him, and 
he was cast into the river. 

The soldiers protested against the use to which they 
were put. The massacres lasted until night-fall. Yet 
when the grave-diggers came next morning, some hearts 
still beat. The sextons put the martyrs out of their misery 
at once by blows on the head with th 6 ir pickaxes. 

“ We are purging the land,” wrote Collet d’Herhois to 
the Convention. 

Every day twentjr-two were regularly shot. By this 
time, the fear of life rendered death sweet. Girls, men, 
children, prayed that they might be shot with their parents. 
Sometimes they permitted this, and little boys and girls 
were shot, holding their father’s hands. 

Women who were seen to shed tears at executions, were 
shot. 

Mourning was prohibited under pain of death. 

One lad of fourteen, sa^^s, “ Quick — quick ! You have 
killed papa ! I want to overtake him ! ” 

One De Kochefort* was accompanied by a son to the 
hutchering-ground, whither he went with three relatives. 
The men fell — the boy, aged fifteen, remained standing. 

The executioner hesitated — the people murmured. 

“ God save the King ! ’’ cried De Bochefort. 

A moment — a report — he fell, shattered to death. 

A lovely girl, fourteen, is brought before the judge for 
refusing to wear the national cockade. 

‘‘ Why do 3'ou refuse to wear it ?” asks the judge. 

Because j'^ou do ! ” replies the child. 

Her beaut}^, rather than justice, pleading for her, a sign 
was made that a wreath should he put in her hair, the 
emblem of liberation. 

She cast it upon the ground. She died. 

A man came to the Hall of J ustice. 

You have slain my father, my brothers, my wife — kill 
me. My religion forbids me to destroy myself. In mercy, 
kill me.” 

In mercy — they killed him. 

* Grandfather of the Henri de Rochefort who writes the Lon- 
terne. 


364 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


A woman, who had fought bravely in the earlier and 
fairer time of the Ke volution, was carried to the scaffold, 
though about to become a mother. She did not tear death 
— she pleaded for the other life. 

She was laughed at — hooted — and so died. 

A girl of seventeen, and much resembling Charlotte 
Corday, was accused of having served as an artillerist in 
the trenches of the forces opposed to the national forces. 

‘‘ What is your name ? ” 

Mary ; the name of the mother of the God for whom I 
am about to die.” 

Your age ? ” 

“ Seventeen ; the age of Charlotte Corday.” 

“ How ! — at seventeen, fight against your country ? ” 

I fought to save it.” 

“ Citizen — we, your judges, admire your courage. What 
would you do with your life if we gave it you ? ” 

“ Use it to kill you ! ” 

She ascended the scaffold, alarmed at the crowd of people 
— fearless of death. She refused the executioner’s help — : 
cried twice, God save the King ! ” — and lay down to die. 

After her death, the executioner found amongst her clothes 
a note written in blood. It was from her lover, who had 
been shot some days before. 

The lovers were only separated by a few days. Their 
history touched the people, but the people of that day did 
not know how to pardon. 

These awful executions were at last arrested, not because 
the victims were exhausted, but because the soldiers threw 
down their arms and positively refused any longer to play 
the shameful parts of executioners. 

Napoleon Bonaparte, the tyrant-liberator of the oppressed 
republic, now rose to his first distinction. 

The English were in possession of Toulon. Admiral 
Hood was preparing to flood France with English red-coats. 

Within a week Bonaparte had compelled the English to 
retire, but not before the}’- had destroyed the arsenal and 
the whole of the French navy. 

On the beach, fifteen thousand refugees from various 
parts of France sought to get away to the combined English 
and Spanish fleets. 

A storm arose in the midst of this destruction. Seven 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 365 

thousand were rescued from the vengeance of the Republi- 
can arms ; eight thousand perished. 

These refugees were chiefly carried to Leghorn, where 
their descendants still reside. 

The Convention ordered that Toulon should he razed to the 
ground for having submitted to the English. 

This frantic order, however, was not carried out. 

Napoleon was now Emperor of Toulon. Already he 
disobeyed orders, and rose daily to power. 

Marat had risen over the Girondists and Liberals, Dan- 
ton over him ; Robespierre was to destroy Danton, but 
Napoleon was to set his foot upon them all, and command, 
until, in his turn, in 1815, he was to succumb. 


CHAPTER LXIL 

THE BLOOD OF WOMEN. 

Madame Roland who had now been imprisoned through 
five long months, was the next celebrated victim demanded 
by the people. She had conquered her weariness by writ- 
ing her life. 

At one time, she sought to avoid death by poison ; but 
the memory of her child prevailed, and she lived on to the 
end. 

When the Girondists fell, she knew all hope of life for 
herself was atari end. She was then removed to the prison 
whence Marie Antoinette went to the scaffold — nay, she 
was imprisoned in the adjoining cell ; and here she passed 
her days, watching the fragment of sky she could see 
through the bars of her prison, or admiring the little 
bunches of flowers the gaoler’s good-hearted wife sent to 
her dungeon almost daily. 

She was tried for being the wife of Roland, and the 
friend of the Girondists. She was proud of the accusation, 
declared herself to be so, and she heard her condemnation 
to death with a calm bearing and a smiling fa.e. 

“ I thank you,” she said, that you think me worthy to 
share the fate of great and good men.” 


366 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


That same day she was placed in the last of a number of 
carts, her only companion being an old man. Her beauty 
was more than radiant, seated so near trembling age. 

She wore a white dress, and her long black hair streamed 
down her back. 

Near the scatFold had been erected a colossal statue of 
Liberty. When she ascended the scaffold, she bowed to the 
statue, and cried, ‘‘ Oh Liberty, how much crime is commit- 
ted in your name ! 

But she had shown her woman’s tenderness at the foot of 
the scaffold. She said to her companion, Go first, that 
you may not see me die. Let me save you that pain.” 

She died quite fearlessly. 

The next day, some peasants, driving home their flocks, 
found the dead bodj'^ of a man, a sword-stick blade through 
his heart. The position of the remains proved suicide, 
effected by putting the sword-handle against a tree, when the 
sufferer flung himself upon the point. A paper found upon 
the dead man contained these words : — 

‘^Whoever thou art that findest these remains, respect 
them as those of a virtuous man. After my wife’s death, I 
will not remain another da}" upon this earth, so stained 
with crimes.” 

This was Madame Boland’s husband. 

Very different from this honest woman’s death was that 
of Madame Dubarry, mistress of Louis XV. Her crime 
was the concealment of a treasure. As a King’s favorite, 
she had amassed enormous wealth. Strangely enough, it 
was a favorite of her own — a negro boy she had adopted — 
that denounced her. She was condemned, and she went 
shrieking to the scaffold — the only instance of this kind 
amongst all the women who died during the Beign of Terror. 

Her beauty was her crime. 

“ Life ! ” she cried. “ Life for repentance — for devotion 
to the Bepublic ! All my treasures for a little life ! ” 

The knife only cut short these ignoble cries. 

The next thing done was the abolition of the name of the 
days of the weeks and months of the year, because they 
were idolatrous. 

Binally, the Catholic faith was abolished, the church bells 
were cast into money, the W'orship of the Goddess of Bea- 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


367 


son, was proclaimed. The proclamation was carried into 
effect at the Cathedral. An actress, one Mdlle. Maillard, 
beautiful, talented, and a favorite of the late Queen’s, was 
compelled to play the part of the goddess. 

She was borne into the church (the only one now open in 
all Paris) upon a kind of litter, covered with oak branches, 
and followed by girls dressed in white, singing jubilant 
songs. About the altar were the opera choristers and others. 
The actress was now placed upon the altar, and she w^as 
worshipped by those present. The Bishop had been com- 
pelled to appear, and he sat motionless with fear, tears of 
shame coursing down his face. 

The burial places of the Kings were now invaded. The 
remains of a thousand years of kings w^ere torn from the 
vaults of St. Denis, and cast into the country ditches. Noth- 
ing was spared — anything which suggested royalty, was 
destroyed. 

Meanwhile, Carrier, at Nantes, surpassed in outrage all 
that had gone before him. It was charitable to suppose 
he was sheer mad. 

Men, w'omen, children, and especially priests, w^ere shot 
down by Carrier’s orders. He said trial w^as useless. His 
rivals had abandoned the guillotine for the butchery of the 
soldier’s lead. Carrier improved upon this. He said he 
hated blood, so he positively sank hundreds, thousands of 
accused, in huge barges. They were carried down to the 
bottom, and there to this day they remain. 

Carrier was the deputy sent by the Convention, of w'hich 
Robespierre was now King. 

These massacres lasted months. Some complaints were 
sent to Paris. Carrier seized two hundred of the principal 
merchants of the place, cast them into prison, tortured them, 
and then drowmed the men. 

At last, his madness becoming apparent, he was recalled. 
Robespierre did not demand his punishment ; and this 
omission of justice w^as one of the accusations brought 
against Robespierre at his trial. 

A woman began the attack upon Robespierre. She was 
Rose Lacombe, beautiful, eloquent, revolutionary; but 
pitying and hating blood. She was seized with love for a 
3’oung prisoner, tried to save him, failed, and she devoted 
herself to Robespierre’s death. 


368 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


Eobespierre, to retain his popularity, determined to 
sacrifice Danton, Camille Desmoulins, and others. They 
fell — all of them. 

As these victims, on their way to execution, passed 
Duplay’s house, the shutters of which were closed, the 
crowd burst into a roar of applause. Eobespierre w^atching, 
trembled. 

A very short span, and his time was to come. 

Herault de Sechelles was the first to alight from the cart. 
He turned to embrace Danton, when the executioner 
pulled him awa3\ 

Brute ! ” said Danton ; “ but you cannot prevent our 
lips touching in the basket.” 

Camille Desmoulins was the last but one of the four. 
He was quite resigned. He looked at the knife, then 
turning to the people, he said, “ Look on at the end of the 
first apostle of liberty ! He who murders me will not 
survive me long ! ” 

Send this lock of hair to my mother,” he said to the 
executioner. 

They were his last words. 

Danton ascended last. He never looked more haughty 
and defiant. For one moment he broke down. Wife ! ” 
he screamed. 

Then he added, ^‘Come, come, Danton; no weakness. 
Executioner, show my head to the people ; it is worth 
looking at ! ” 

The executioner caught the head as it was falling, and 
carried it round the scaffold. 

The mob applauded. Such is the end of favorites. 

Eight thousand people were awaiting death in the prisons 
of Paris alone, within a month of Danton’s death. 

Eobespierre was delicate and decent in his power and 
supreme cruelty, but he capped all his compeers. Men and 
women were not shot or drowned in Paris, but the guillotine 
worked unceasingly. 

Certain children had, in 1791, taken part in receiving 
the Prussian General at Verdun. They were all brought 
to Paris, and guillotined. 

The nuns of Montmartre were carried, abbess, young 
girls, and old women, all to the scaffold — for praying ! As 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


369 


the Girondists sang their l\ymns, so these poor women sang 
theirs. The last death ended the last note of this hymn. 

It was thus Kobespierre — now alone, of all those with 
whom he first came into power — and his statellites main- 
tained their power. 

One, and only ore, grown-up scion of royalty remained 
—Madame Elizabeth. 

It was then more than a year since the King died. She 
and the Princess remained together — deprived even of 
cards, because of the kings and queens in the pack. 

As for the Dauphin, he was confined in a room the bed 
of which he never left. His bread was thrown to him. 
No one ever spoke to him, and his clothes had not been 
changed for nearly twelve months. His window would not 
open. He was allowed no books, paper, or playthings ; in 
a word, he was brutalized at six years of age. His limbs 
stiffened, and he became an idiot, in which state he died. 

The aunt and sister could hear nothing about the child. 
They were treated tolerably well, but during Lent they 
were only given fat meat to eat. This their consciences 
would not allow them to touch, and for forty days they only 
ate bread. 

The summons came suddenly" at night-time. The little 
Princess, the onlj^ one of the five prisoners of the Temple 
wLo survived the Keign of Terror, wept, clung to her aunt 
■ — but lost her. 

Her defence was very simple : — “ I am tried because I 
am the King’s sister. You call him a t^^rant. Had he 
been, you would not have been where you are; I not bo 
where I am ! ” 

The people demanded her life, and they obtained it. 

The very women who generally yelled around the carts 
were dumb, as this serene, angelic woman was carried 
through the streets. She died so peacefully, that many 
envied her. 


23 


370 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


CHAPTEE LXIIL 

ROBESPIERRE FALLS. 

Atheism was now preached openly. 

Eobespierre pronounced in favor of an unknown deity, 
and in so magnificent a speech, that it may be said he gave 
back religion to France. 

But his time had come. 

What was his crime in the eyes of his accusers ? Un- 
popularity. 

One night he is addressing the Convention, when the 
uproar is so incessant, that in endeavoring to make himself 
heard, his voice fails him. 

The people were already looking towards Napoleon — the 
man of the sword, not of the tongue. 

Eobespierre fell back upon silence, but he was always to 
be seen at his place at the Convention. Hour after hour, 
friends became enemies. 

He knew he was condemned, but he waited. 

Here is the final scene : — 

Eobespierre and his friends, St. Just, Couthon, and 
Lebas, seated in a room by themselves, hear the jingle of 
approaching soldiers. Lebas takes one of a couple of 
pistols, and presents it — “ Eobespierre, let us die.” 

“ No ; I await the executioner,” says Eobespierre, and 
the other two murmur in assent. 

The sounds come nearer. 

A report — and Lebas falls. He has shot himself through 
the heart. 

The soldier-insurgents swarm into the room. 

Dow'n with the t^'rant ! Where is he ? ” 

These were the cries Eobespierre heard. 

He did not quail. 

“ Which is the man ? ” asks a soldier of Leonard Bour- 
don, who did not face his fallen enemy. 

He pointed the questioner’s pistol at Eobespierre, and he 
said, “ That is the man.” 

^ The report was heard, and the next moment Eobes- 
pierre’s head fell upon the proclamation he w.as signing at 
the instant. 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 371 

The ball had entered the left side of the face, and carried 
away part of the cheek and several teeth. 

Couthoii tried to rise, and fell to the ground. 

St. Just sat calmly glancing from his fallen friend to his 
enemies. 

The procession to the Convention was horrible enough. 
It was now daybreak. 

First was carried Robespierre, on a litter, his face tied up 
in a handkerchief ; then came his brother, insensible, in the 
arms of two men ; then followed the dead body of Lebas, 
over which they had thrown a table-cover. 

Couthon, who had rolled in the mud, followed; and the 
procession was closed by St. Just, walking bare-headed. 

“ The recreant Robespierre is here ! ” said the President 
of the Convention, a man just chosen. “ Shall he be 
brought in ? ” 

No, no ! ” cried the Conventionists. “ The corpse of a 
tyrant can carry nothing but contagion along with it. To 
the scaffold ! ’’ 

Robespierre was put aside in a room, and hundreds of 
people pushed in to assure themselves the tyrant was dead. 

He heard and saw all ; but could not speak. 

At three, he and his friends were tried. At six, they 
were being conveyed in carts to execution. 

There was no lack of people to see Robespierre die; 
women dressed as for a ball, believing tliat with Robes- 
pierre the Reign of Terror was at an end. 

Children huddled around the carts — orphans of his 
victims — crying, “ Kill him ! kill him ! ” 

His procession to the scaffold was a line of loud-spoken 
imprecations. 

He never spoke or uttered a cry, except when the 
bandage was taken from his face ; then a scream, heard 
many hundred 3’^ards away, burst from him. 

His head fell — he and the Terror ended together. 

France fell into the hands of Napoleon. 

***** 

My tale is done. I have said very little about myself — 
I, Rene Besson, found in my old age b^" Alexander Dumas, 
seated in the sunlight. I married Estelle Duplay (the 
furies broke into the house of Duplay, the day after 


372 


LOVE AND LIBERTY. 


Kobespierre^s death, and killed his poor wife), and found 
peace and happiness. One last word ! I have never re- 
gretted saving Sophie Gerbaut, and the Viscount de Malmy, 
from the Terror. That I did. I am now an old man. My 
very last words are these. The Revolution was terrible, 
but it did the world more good in the long run than the 
world has yet found out. 

Rene Besson. 





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morocco cloth, full gilt edges, full gilt back, full gilt sides, etc., .... 4 00 
Hans Breitmann’s Ballads. By Charles G. Leland. Volume One. Con- 


taining the “ First," ‘‘Second," and “ Third Series” of the “ Breit- 

mann Ballads," bound in morocco cloth, gilt, beveled boards, 3 00 

Hans Breitraann’s Ballads. By Charles G. Leland. Volume Two. 
Containing the “Fourth" and “Fifth Series” of the “ Breitmann 

Ballads,” bound in morocco cloth, gilt, beveled boards, 2 00 

Hans Breitmann's Ballads. By Charles G. Leland. Being the above 
two volumes complete in one. In one large volume, bound in 
morocco cloth, gilt side, gilt top, and full gilt back, with beveled 

boards. With a full and complete Glossary to the whole work, 4 00 

Meister Karl's Sketch Book. By Charles G. Leland, (Hans Breit- 
mann.) Complete in one volume, green morocco cloth, gilt side, 
gilt top, gilt back, with beveled boards, price $2.50, or in maroon 

morocco cloth, full gilt edges, full gilt back, full gilt sides, etc., 3 50 

Historical Sketches of Plymouth, Luzerne Co., Penna. By Hendrick 

B. Wright, of Wilkesbarre. With Twenty-five Photographs, 4 00 

John Jasper’s Secret. A Sequel to Charles Dickens’ ‘‘MysUry of 

Edwin Drood.” With 18 Illustrations. Bound in cloth, 2 00 

The Last Athenian. From the Swedish of Victor Rydberg. Highly 
recommended by Fredrika Bremer. Paper $1.50, or in cloth, 2 00 


Across the Atlantic. Letters from France, Switzerland, Germany, 

Italy, and England. By C. H. Haeseler, M.D. Bound in cloth,... 2 00 
The Ladies’ Guide to True Politeness and Perfect Manners. By 
Miss Leslie. Every lady should have it. Cloth, full gilt back,... 1 75 
The Ladies’ Complete Guide to Needlework and Embroidery. With 

113 illustrations. By Miss Lambert. Cloth, full gilt back, 1 75 

The Ladies’ Work Table Book. With 27 illustrations. Cloth, gilt,. 1 50 
The Story of Elizabeth. By Miss Thackeray, paper $1.00, or cloth,... 1 50 
Dow’s Short Patent Sermons. By Dow, Jr. In 4 vols., cloth, each.... 1 50 
Wild Oats Sown Abroad. A Spicy Book. By T. B. Witmer, cloth,... 1 50 
Aunt Patty’s Scrap Bag. By Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz, author of 

“ Linda,” etc. Full of Illustrations, and bound in cloth, 1 50 

Hollick’s Anatomy and Physiology of the Human Figure. Illustrated 
by a perfect dissected plate of the Human Organization, and by 
other separate plates of the Human Skeleton, such as Arteries, 

Veins, the Heart, Lungs, Trachea, etc. Illustrated. Bound, 2 00 

Life and Adventures of Don Quixote and his Squire Sancho Panza, 
complete in one large volume, paper cover, for $1.00, or in cloth,.. 1 75 
The Laws and Practice of the Game of Euchre, as adopted by the 

Euchre Club of Washington, D. C. Bound in cloth, 1 00 

Riddell’s Model Architect. With 22 large full page colored illus- 
trations, and 44 plates of ground plans, with plans, specifications, 
costs of building, etc. One large quarto volume, bound, $15 00 

1 ^ “ Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail FrieOy 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


8 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


NEW AND GOOD BOOKS BY BEST AUTHORS. 

Treason at Home. A Novel. By Mrs. Greenough, cloth, $1 75 

Letters from Europe. By Colonel John W. Forney. Bound in cloth, 1 75 
Moore’s Life of Hon. Schuyler Colfax, with a Portrait on steel, cloth, 1 60 

Whitefriars ; or. The Days of Charles the Second. Illustrated, 1 00 

Tan-go-ru-a. An Historical Drama, in Prose. By Mr. Moorhead,.... 1 00 

The Impeachment Trial of President Andrew Johnson. Cloth, 1 50 

Trial of the Assassins for the Murder of Abraham Lincoln. Cloth,... 1 50 
Lives of Jack Sheppard and Guy Fawkes. Illustrated. One vol., cloth, 1 75 

Consuelo, and Countess of Rudolstadt. One volume, cloth, 2 00 

Monsieur Antoine. By George Sand. Illustrated. One vol., cloth, 1 00 

Frank Fairleigh. By author of “ Lewis Arundel,” cloth, 1 75 

Lewis Arundel. By author of “ Frank Fairleigh,” cloth, 1 75 

Aurora Floyd. By Miss Braddon. One vol., paper 75 cents, cloth,... 1 00 
Christy and White's Complete Ethiopian Melodies, bound in cloth,... 1 00 

The Life of Charles Dickens. By R. Shelton Mackenzie, cloth, 2 00 

Poetical Works of Sir Walter Scott. One 8vo. volume, fine binding, 5 00 

Life of Sir Walter Scott. By John G. Lockhart. With Portrait, 2 50 

The Shakspeare Novels. Complete in one large octavo volume, cloth, 4 00 
Miss Pardoe’s Choice Novels. In one large octavo volume, cloth,... 4 00 
The Waverley Novels. National Edition. Five large 8vo. vols., cloth, 1 5 00 
Charles Dickens' Works. People's \2mo. Edition. 21 vols., cloth, 32 00 
Charles Dickens’ Works. Green Cloth 12mo. Edition. 21 vols., cloth, 40 00 
Charles Dickens’ Works. Illustrated 12mo. Edition. 34 vols., cloth, 60 00 
Charles Dickens’ Works. Illustrated 8co. Edition. 18 vols., cloth, 31 60 
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HUMOROUS ILLUSTRATED WORKS. 


Each one is full of Illustrations, by Felix 0. C. Darley, and boimd in Cloth. 


Major Jones’ Courtship and Travels. With 21 Illustrations, 

Major Jones’ Scenes in Georgia. With 16 Illustrations,.... 

Simon Suggs’ Adventures and Travels. With 17 Illustrations, 

Swamp Doctor’s Adventures in the South-West. 14 Illustrations,... 

Col. Thorpe’s Scenes in Arkansaw. With 16 Illustrations, 

The Big Bear’s Adventures and Travels. With 18 Illustrations, 

High Life in New York, by Jonathan Slick. With Illustrations,.... 

Judge Haliburton’s Yankee Stories. Illustrated, 

Harry Coverdale’s Courtship and Marriage. Illustrated, 

Piney Wood’s Tavern; or, Sam Slick in Texas. Illustrated, 

Sam Slick, the Clockmaker. By Judge Haliburton. Illustrated,... 
Humors of Falconbridge. By J. F. Kelley. With Illustrations, ... 

Modern Chivalry. By Judge Breckenridge. Two vols., each 

Neal’s Charcoal Sketches. By Joseph C. Neal. 21 Illustrations,... 


$1 75 
1 75 
1 75 
1 75 
1 75 
1 75 
1 75 
1 75 
1 75 
1 75 
1 75 
1 75 

1 75 

2 50 


CHARLES LEVER’S BEST WORKS. 


Charles O’Malley, 75 

Harry Lorrequer, 75 

Jack Hinton, 75 

Tom Burke of Ours, 75 

Knight of Gwynne, ,.. 75 


Arthur O’Leary, 75 

Con Cregan, 75 

Davenport Dunn, 75 

Horace Templeton, 75 

Kate O’Donoghue, 75 


Above are in paper cover, or a fin© edition in cloth at $2.00 each. 

A Rent in a Cloud, 50 | St. Patrick’s Eve, 50 


Ten Thousand a Year, in one volume, paper cover, $1.50; or in cloth, 2 00 
The Diary of a Medical Student, by author “ Ten Thousand a Year,” 75 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETEESON & BROTHERS’ PTJBLICATIOHS. 9 


DUMAS’, REYNOLDS’, AND OTHER BOOKS IN CLOTH. 

The fnllnwing are cloth editions of the folloioing good bonJcs, and they are 
each issued in one large volume, bound in cloth, price $1.76 each. 

The Three Guardsmen ; or. The Three Mousquetaires. By A. Dumas, $1 75 
Twenty Years After j or the ‘'Second Series of Three Guardsmen,” ... 1 75 
Bragelonne,- Son of Athos ; or “ Third Series of Three Guardsmen,” 1 75 
The Iron Mask ; or the “ Fourth Series of The Three Guardsmen,”.,.. 1 75 
Louise La Valliere; or the “Fifth Series and End of the Three 

Guardsmen Series,” 1 75 

The Memoirs of a Physician. By Alexander Dumas. Illustrated,... 1 75 
Queen’s Necklace ; or “ Second Series of Memoirs of a Physician,” 1 75 
Six Years Later j or the “ Third Series of Memoirs of a Physician,” 1 75 
Countess of Charny; or “Fourth Series of Memoirs of a Physician,” 1 75 
Andree De Taverney ; or “ Fifth Series of Memoirs of a Physician,” 1 75 
The Chevalier; or the “Sixth Series and End of the Memoirs of a 

Physician Series,” 1 75 

The Adventures of a Marquis. By Alexander Dumas 1 75 

Edmond Dantes. A Sequel to the “ Count of Monte-Cristo,” 1 75 

The Forty-Five Guardsmen. By Alexander Dumas. Illustrated,... 1 75 
Diana of Meridor, or Lady of Monsoreau. By Alexander Dumas,... 1 75 
The Iron Hand. By Alex. Dumas, author “Count of Monte-Cristo,” 1 75 
The Mysteries of the Court of London. By George W. M. Reynolds, 1 75 
Rose Foster; or the “Second Series of Mysteries of Court of London,” 1 75 
Caroline of Brunswick; or the “ Third Series of the Court of London,” 1 75 
Venetia Trelawney; or “ End of the Mysteries of the Court of London,” 1 75 

Lord Saxondale; or the Court of Queen Victoria. By Reynolds, 1 75 

Count Christoval. Sequel to “ Lord Saxondale.” By Reynolds, 1 75 

Rosa Lambert; or Memoirs of an Unfortunate Woman. By Reynolds, 1 75 
Mary Price; or the Adventures of a Servant Maid. By Reynolds,... 1 75 
Eustace Quentin. Sequel to “Mary Price.” By G. W. M. Reynolds, 1 75 
Joseph Wilmot; or the Memoirs of a Man Servant. By Reynolds,... 1 75 

Banker’s Daughter. Sequel to “.Joseph Wilmot.” By Reynolds, 1 75 

Kenneth. A Romance of the Highlands. By G. W. M. Reynolds, 1 75 

Rye-House Plot; or the Conspirator’s Daughter. By Reynolds, 1 75 

Necromancer; or the Times of Henry the Eighth. By Reynolds, 1 75 

Within the Maze. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “East Lynne,”. 1 75 
Dene Hollow. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “Within the Maze,” 1 75 
Bessy Rane. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “ The Channings,”..., 1 75 
George Canterbury’s Will. By Mrs. Wood, author “Oswald Cray,” 1 75 
The Channings. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “ Dene Hollow,”... 1 75 

Roland Yorke. A Sequel to “ The Channings.” By Mrs. Wood, 1 75 

Shadow of Afehlydyatt. By Mrs. Wood, author of “ Bessy Rane,” 1 75 

Lord Oakburn’s Daughters ; or The Earl’s Heirs. By Mrs. Wood,... 1 75 
Verner’s Pride. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “ The Channings,” 1 75 
The Castle’s Heir; or Lady Adelaide’s Oath. By Mrs. Henry Wood, 1 75 
Oswald Cray. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “Roland Yorke,”.... 1 75 

Squire Trevlyn’s Heir; or Trevlyn Hold. By Mrs. Henry Wood, 1 75 

Ttie Red Court Farm. By Mrs. Wood, author of “Verner’s Pride,”... 1 75 
Elster’s Folly. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “ Castle’s Heir,”... 1 75 
St. Martin’s Eve. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “Dene Hollow,” 1 75 
Mildred Arkell. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “East Lynne,”.... 1 75 
Cyrilla; ortho Mysterious Engagement. By author of “ Initials,” 1 75 

The Miser’s Daughter. By William Harrison Ainsworth, 1 75 

The Mysteries of Florence. By Geo. Lippard, author “ Quaker City,” 1 75 


1^* Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Fricei 
by T. B. Peterson Brokers, FMladelpbia, Fa. 


12 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


ALEXANDER DUMAS’ WORKS. 


Count of Monte-Cristo, $1 60 

Edmond Dantes, 76 

The Three Guardsmen, 76 

Twenty Years After, 76 

Bragelonne, 76 

The Iron Mask, 1 00 

Louise La Valliere, 1 00 

Diana of Meridor, 1 00 

Adventures of a Marquis, 1 00 

Love and Liberty, 1 60 

Camille; or. The Fate of a Coquette, 
The above are each in paper cov 

The Fallen Angel, 76 

Felina de Chambure, 76 

The Horrors of Paris, 76 

Sketches in France, 76 

Isabel of Bavaria, 76 

Twin Lieutenants, 75 

Man with Five Wives, 75 

George ; or, Isle of France, 76 


Memoirs of a Physicia*, $1 00 

Queen's Necklace, 1 00 

Six Years Later, 1 00 

Countess of Charny, 1 00 

Andree de Taverney, 1 00 

The Chevalier, 1 00 

Forty-five Guardsmen, 1 00 

The Iron Hand, 75 

The Conscript, 1 60 

Countess of Monte-Cristo, 1 00 

(La Dame Aux CameJias,) 1 50 

er, or in cloth, price $1.75 each. 
Annette ; or. Lady of Pearls,... 60 

Madame De Chamblay 50 

The Black Tulip, 50 

The Corsican Brothers, 50 

The Count of Moret, 60 

Mohicans of Paris, 50 

The Marriage Verdict, 50 

Buried Alive, 25 


GEORGE W. M. REYNOLDS’ WORKS. 


Mysteries Court of London,. ...$1 
Rose Foster, 1 


Caroline of Brunswick,. 

Venetia Trelawney, 

Lord Saxondale, 

Count Christoval, 

Rosa Lambert,. 


Mary Price, 

Eustace Quentin, 

Joseph Wilmot., 

Banker’s Daughter,... 

Kenneth, 

The Rye-House Plot,. 
The Necromancer,. 


The above are each in paper cover, or in cloth, price $1.75 each. 


The Opera Dancer,. 75 

Child of Waterloo, 75 

Robert Bruce, 76 

The Gipsy Chief, 76 

Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots,.. 75 

Wallace, Hero of Scotland, 1 00 

Isabella Vincent, 76 

Vivian Bertram, 75 

Countess of Lascelles, 75 

Duke of Marchmont, 75 

Massacre of Glencoe, 76 


The Soldier’s Wife, 

May Middleton, 

Ellen Percy, 

Agnes Evelyn, 

Pickwick Abroad, 

Parricide, 

Discarded Queen, 

Life in Paris, 

Countess and the Page,... 

Edgar Montrose, 

The Ruined Gamester,..., 
Clifford and the Actress,. 


Loves of the Harem 76 

Queen Joanna; or the Mysteries of the Court of Naples, 
Ciprina ; or, the Secrets of a Picture Gallery, 


00 

00 

00 

00 

00 

00 

00 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

75 

60 

50 

60 

50 

50 

75 

60 


MISS PARDOE’S POPULAR WORKS. 

Confessions of a Pretty Woman, 75 1 The Rival Beauties, 75 

The Wife's Trials, 75 Romance of the Harem, 75 

The Jealous Wife, 50 • 

The five above books are also bound in one volume, cloth, for $4.00. 

The Adopted Heir. One volume, paper, $1.50; or in cloth, $1 75 

The Earl’s Secret. One volume, paper, $1.60 ; or in cloth, 1 75 


Above books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
bj T. B. Peterson & Brotbeos, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETESSON & BROTHERS’ PBBLICATIOHS. 13 


MRS. HENRY WOOD’S BEST BOOKS. 


The Master of Greylands, $1 50 

Within the Maze, 1 60 

Dene Hollow, 1 50 

Bessy Bane 1 50 

George Canterbury’s Will, 1 50 

Verner’s Pride, 1 50 

The Channings, 1 50 


Shadow of Ashlydyat, $1 50 

Squire Trevlyn’s Heir, 1 50 

Oswald Cray,.. 1 50 

Mildred Arkell, 1 50 

Red Court Farm, 1 50 

Elster’s Folly, 1 50 

St. Martin’s Eve, 1 50 


Roland Yorke. A Sequel to “ The Channings,” 1 50 

Lord Oakburn’s Daughters ; or. The Earl’s Heirs, 1 50 

The Castle’s Heir ; or. Lady Adelaide’s Oath, 1 50 

The above are each in paper cover, or in cloth, price $1.75 each. 


The Mystery, 75 

The Lost Bank Note, 75 

The Lost Will, 50 

Orville College, 50 

A Light and a Dark Christmas, 26 


A Life’s Secret, 50 

The Haunted Tower, 60 

The Runaway Match, 50 

Foggy Night at OflFord, 25 

William Allair, 25 


EUGENE SUE’S GREAT WORKS. 


Wandering Jew, $1 50 

Mysteries of Paris, 1 50 

Martin, the Foundling, 1 50 

Above are in cloth at $2.00 each. 

Life and Adventures of Raoul de Surville. A Tale of the Empire,.. 


First Love, 

Woman’s Love, 

Female Bluebeard,.. 
Man-of- W ar’s-Man, 


50 

50 

60 

60 

25 


MADAME GEORGE SAND’S WORKS. 

Consuelo, 12mo., cloth, $1 50 i Jealousy, 12mo. cloth, $1 50 

Countess of Rudolstadt, 1 60 1 Indiana, 12mo., cloth, 1 50 

Above are only published in 12mo., cloth, gilt side and back. 

Fanchon, the Cricket, price $1.00 in paper, or in cloth, 1 50 

First and True Love, 75 1 The Corsair, 60 

Simon. A Love Story, 50 1 The Last Aldini, 60 

Monsieur Antoine. With 11 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents j cloth, 1 00 
Consuelo and Countess of Rudolstadt, octavo, cloth, 2 00 


CHARLES J. PETERSON’S WORKS. 

The Old Stone Mansion, $1 50 1 Kate Aylesford, $1 50 

The above are each in paper cover, or in cloth, price $1.75 each. 
Cruising in the Last War....... 75 1 Grace Dudley; or, Arnold at 

Valley Farm, 25 I Saratoga, 50 

WILLIAM H. MAXWELL’S WORKS. 

Wild Sports of the West, 75 I Brian O’Lynn, 75 

Stories of Waterloo, 75 I Life of Grace O’Malley, 50 

MISS BRADDON’S WORKS. 

Aurora Floyd, 75 I The Lawyer’s Secret, 25 

Aurora Floyd, cloth 1 00 \ For Better, For Worse, 75 

D’ISRAELI’S WORKS. 

Henrietta Temple, 50 I Contarina Fleming, 50 

Miriam Alroy 50 | 


1^" Above books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. * 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ BOOK HOUSE. 



T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS are the American publishers of the popular 
books written by Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth, Mrs. Ann S. Stephens, Mrs. 
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Maitland, Charles Dickens, Sir Walter Scott, Charles Lever, Wilkie Collins, 
Alexander Dumas, G. W. M. Reynolds, Samuel Warren, Henry Cockton, Fred- 
rika Bremer, T. A. Trollope, Dow’s Patent Sermons, Madame George Sand, 
Eugene Sue, Miss Pardoe, Mrs. Henry Wood, Frank Fairlegh, W. H. Ainsworth, 


Miss Ellen Pickering, Captain Marryatt, Mrs. Gray, G. P. R. James, Gustate 
Aimard, and hundreds of other authors. ^ ' 

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T. B. PETERSON and BROTHERS, 

No. 306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa, 








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